


Hard Feelings

by Vianne (jatty)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic Violence, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Homophobia, Homosexuality, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:18:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/Vianne
Summary: Old money Rupert Williamson is nineteen and on the verge of being disowned by his wealthy and notorious family for the 'vile transgression' of being gay. He's done his best to stay below the radar, but his interest in the young Hal Lowery is difficult to keep under wraps. If he were a decent person, he'd leave the fourteen-year-old alone, but love doesn't care about plans or laws or social obligations. Rupert is smitten and there's nothing he can do.Unfortunately, the new money Hal Lowery is not at all what he seems. Pity Rupert didn't notice the warning signs sooner.TL;DR: Rupert is a man overwrought with guilt for loving a boy five years his junior; Hal is a boy who isn't about to miss out on an opportunity, even if it means taking advantage of a friend.





	1. Chapter 1

If Rupert Williamson were a good person, he would’ve left the young Harold Lowery well enough alone. 

He’d heard of the boy long before he’d ever gotten to see him, and perhaps if the rumors had done him justice, Rupert would have been more prepared. Everybody in their circle had something to say about the kid. He was New Money, the only child of Entrepreneur Irving Lowery who had made his fortune breathing life back into the old Hepfordt Machining Factory. Irving was noted as stern and cold, everything you’d want in a ruthless, up and coming businessman. Harold—_Hal_—was said to be soft and undisciplined. It stands to reckon that Rupert would have begun by imagining Hal as a bratty and overfed child. Truthfully, his first mental picture had been of Augustus Gloop from the old _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_ film.

So, when he finally did meet the boy in the summer of 2006, he was utterly baffled and perturbed to find him thin and proper. Not a hair out of place, not a twinkle of mischief in his eye. If anything, Hal Lowery—when gazed at directly—looked like a man of forty who had just watched his life’s work go up in flames. There was a look of something akin to _haunted_ in his eyes. Perhaps that was what lured Rupert to him—a gleam of a twin soul lost on the black waters. If they latched onto one another, they’d both assuredly drown, but somehow that sounded better than floating in the icy darkness alone. At least they would sink together. 

Rupert struggled to remind himself that drowning anyone—figuratively or otherwise—was the mark of a bad person, a very sick person, as the season of parties and banquets drew out. He’d caught his first glimpse of Hal at the Innya family’s California beach house, his second at the Stevenson fund raiser in New York, and his third and most compelling at the DeLaffoyette estate in Louisiana. Rupert had stolen glances at him in the dusty light of the auction houses and banquet halls, the echoing roar of voices filtering in and out of his ears while his attention wandered far from his role and duties. He almost made eye-contact with the boy in the dull glow of a populated dinner table, saved only by his fingers brushing aimlessly against his wineglass and nearly upsetting it. The blunder earned a hearty laugh from the Stevenson patriarch who was nearly finished with a decanter of merlot himself, but that and the flickering of candlelight on Hal’s preoccupied, nearly troubled face were all Rupert could recall of the night. 

What did a boy of fourteen being carted around the country have to be so worried about? 

This thought kept Rupert’s mind veering off into circles when he was meant to be entertaining—when he was meant to be promoting his father’s services. The Williamson Banking Co. was surely the finest in estate planning and financial management, and also very discreet. Wanted to set up a fund for your illegitimate child? Wanted to trickle funds into an account your husband couldn’t locate? Look no further than the Williamsons. Everybody knew it, and knew them as the keeper of their very close society’s most guarded kept secrets, so Rupert saw no need to focus too much on advertising. 

Rather, he spent his time abroad in America focused on enjoying himself—visiting with friends he hadn’t been permitted to talk to since the year before, shopping, dining wherever he saw fit. And, of course, passing side-long glances toward Hal Lowery. 

At the beach, while the other kids his age were playing sand volley ball or going off in groups to play with the jet skis (and while the adults slowly got drunk on their boats out at sea or under the canopy of the Innya’s porch), Hal sat cross-legged in the sand staring out at the water—or so Rupert assumed. The boy wore sunglasses, a gray t-shirt, and blue swim trunks that never once touched the water. 

Lily Rackham, one of those friends Rupert was prohibited from speaking with, sat beside him under a large umbrella catching up on all they’d missed—and then asked about Hal. Once they both established they knew little to nothing about him, it was Lily who decided to go over and strike up a conversation. Perhaps she had known of Rupert’s interest already. After all, it wasn’t in her nature to let sleeping dogs lie. 

She went to Hal and loomed over him, bent over at the middle with her hands on her sunburned knees, and chattered at him. He leaned back and raised his sunglasses to peer up at her. He smiled at her and chuckled when it seemed appropriate to chuckle, but declined whatever offer she’d made. She returned to the shelter of their umbrella and shrugged as she sank down onto the mandala-patterned blanket. 

"I asked him if he wanted to go out on the boat later and he said he hates water. Asked if he wanted to walk into town for pizza and he said he’s not hungry. What teenage boy isn’t hungry?” Lily asked, sounding anything but perturbed as she laid down as if sunbathing in the shade. Rupert passed another glance in Hal’s direction to find the boy back to staring out at the ocean. Lily caught him quite quickly and gave a small, polite giggle. 

From that moment forward, he’d had a confidant. The Williamsons, for a small fortune, kept her father’s secrets, his father’s secrets, his father’s father’s secrets. Lily kept Rupert’s for free. 

After the scorching heat of California, Rupert was immersed in the sopping wet air of Louisiana, on the DeLaffoyette plantation. His visit there was tense from the moment he stepped foot out of the rental car and handed his keys to the valet. It felt as if even this man for hire knew he had insulted the master of the house in late 2004, just after he’d turned eighteen. Mr. Charles DeLaffoyette had proposed an arrangement, a marriage, between his only child and Rupert. Mr. Williamson accepted enthusiastically, eager to bind the notorious Seaport Transport with Williamson Banking. Charlotte was beautiful, cultured, polite. Rupert truly enjoyed her company, even if he had to keep his more boisterous opinions to himself in her presence, but he didn’t want to marry her. He couldn’t. It would be an insult to her—it would debase her. 

He thought it had been an act of kindness, of bravery, to decline and admit—for the first time—why. He could never dishonor Charlotte with a loveless marriage, and he could never learn to love her no matter what his parents insisted. Rupert thought he had done the right thing. Apparently, this was not so. 

Even a year later, as he walked along the stone pathway, through the low-hanging moss on the tall oak trees, he felt Mr. DeLaffoyette’s hatred of him radiating outward. It was very nearly overwhelming and he thought to turn tail and run, go back to the hotel and leave word for Lily to join him if she could find a time to escape the party. What kept him planted was, he felt shame to admit, Hal Lowery. 

He had never looked more radiant than that afternoon in the garden behind Mr. DeLaffoyette’s house. The greenery enhanced the color of the boy’s eyes, which Rupert finally learned were dark hazel. His hair was practically the color of the trees. Hal looked as if he belonged there in the garden where the shadows of leaves and moss made patterns on his face in the sunlight. 

Miss Charlotte and Lily stood with Rupert most of his time at the party when social obligation didn’t pull them elsewhere. (Charlotte, for what it was worth, held no resentment toward him for his refusal and had not been surprised to hear the reason. She ‘always assumed,’ she’d said with the most polite of smiles.) Neither of them seemed to mind or make note of the way his eyes constantly darted through the crowd searching for one boy—one kid—who did not go off with the rest of them to watch the new _Pirates of the Caribbean_ film in town. Even Meisha Innya and her brother Mstislav had gone to see the flick and the two of them were well past twenty. 

"You know, Rupert, if you took a picture, it’d last a Hell of a lot longer.” The voice came from behind him and was paired with a sharp clap on the back. Leslie R— stood behind him, sneering in a way that almost looked pleasant. Rupert played his interest off rather well, in his own humbled opinion. 

“Seems odd, doesn’t he? Everyone else went to the movies.” 

"I noticed you didn’t go. But, then again, you’re supposed to be working the Season, aren’t you?” 

“Yes. My father’s laid up at the moment. Big business deal headed south, I’m afraid. Otherwise, I probably would’ve gone as well. I do so love to see Keira Knightley on the big screen.” 

“Orlando Bloom, don’t you mean?” Leslie asked with that same, not-so-friendly sneer. “I’d suggest Depp, but I can’t help but notice you go for the, er, boyish looks.” He glanced over at Hal who was sipping from a champagne flute he’d not had before. He wasn’t nearly old enough to drink in this country, Rupert thought. Where in world had he gotten it? 

“No. I do mean Keira Knightley. She’s a gem.” 

“And what about this kid, hm? A real _treasure?”_ Leslie asked, his tone taunting. 

“I hear he’s a real punk,” Rupert answered, and turned his back to the child. “Thinks he’s better than everyone else.” 

Well, you know how it is. That New Money attitude. His father’s the same way.” Leslie offered him a cigarette and Rupert took him up on it. They walked the perimeter of the plantation together, discussing business and then film. It ended with plans for lunch the following afternoon before their flight was set to leave for Seattle. Leslie flew on the Innyas’ private jet. Rupert traveled First Class, trying to focus on the paperback he’d purchased at the airport while his mind wandered elsewhere like a sailor on leave in a new town, exploring the ins and outs, and all the possibilities. 

If he were a good person, a smart person, he would’ve quelled the thoughts any way possible. He would’ve drowned them in fourteen dollar rum and Cherry Cokes. 

As it turned out, Rupert was far from anything decent, anything respectable, and had approached the boy after a measly three weeks of resistance. It happened at his own family’s West Seattle lodge; his family’s turn to host for the Season. His mother had made all the arrangements from abroad, had all the servants in place carrying out her orders. It honestly felt as if she were there with her attentive eye, hiding somewhere unseen, as the party geared up and took off. 

They very best thing about being the unpopular host at one of these parties was that, after the first round of polite introductions, no one bothered to speak to you. And, with his parents nestled all the way in Redbridge, Rupert finally felt some security in doing as he pleased and let the servants see to the rest. 

At four he had ducked out for close to an hour to meet with his supplier, a rather aloof Latino who always wore ripped leather jeans, and by six was well on his way to getting drunk off vintage wine his father would never have allowed him to have had he been present. Such fine bottles were for their most _celebrated_ guests—the Innyas, for example, and the Barreau family. They got a few—Rupert saw to that—but kept three of the best for himself. Some he would share with Lily who was staying the week at his cabin as opposed to most of the guests who were only staying until Wednesday at the latest. 

Young Lowery’s father was staying until Wednesday, as were the Stevensons and Lily’s parents. Some of the guests like Leslie R— and his parents were staying at nearby hotels and wouldn’t come back to the Williamson Lodge again until the next summer, the next Season. 

“Do you want me to go test the waters _for_ you?” Lily asked him after watching Rupert’s no doubt horrid display of spying on the boy from the little study in the cabin’s loft. There was a desk, a coffee table, and two over-stuffed reading chairs crammed into the little pocket of space, and Rupert had used it as a hideout during these parties for as long as he could remember. 

"I have no idea what you mean,” Rupert said, topping off his glass with the last of the wine in the bottle. 

“That boy. You’ve been watching him all night. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” she said, wagging her eyebrows at him. 

“Yes… The _boy,”_ Rupert enunciated. “And I still have no idea what you mean.” 

“I could go down there and do a little digging, if you’d like. See if he talks to anyone… See what they all think of him." 

"We already _know_ what they think of him. No need to go stirring up trouble.” 

“I could always go see what he thinks of _you,”_ Lily offered, just as maliciously. 

“Me? He doesn’t even know me! We’ve never met." 

"What!? Impossible! We’re at _your_ party! You’re an _awful_ host! Didn’t your mother teach you anything?" 

"Suppose she did not. I said hello to his father. Didn’t see Mrs. Lowery anywhere…" 

"I heard she went back home after Louisiana. You know what else I heard?” 

Rupert hummed noncommittally around his wineglass, trying his best to sound disinterested when he was truly dying to hear any gossip he could. 

"I heard from Klasky’s wife that Mrs. Donna Lowery had a black eye when she got on their private jet. Word is, Mr. Lowery’s a real brute.” 

“Would explain why his son’s so disturbed.” 

“Disturbed? You can’t really mistake _quiet_ for _disturbed!”_

Whether he did or not, Rupert refused to say. He did, however, follow Hal through the room below with his eyes. He watched the boy snatch a tumbler of some dark liquor and make off with it back to where he’d been before. Sneaky little bastard. Rupert had to give him props for that. By the time the owner of the glass noticed it missing, he was waving dismissively at the servants who he believed to have cleared it away. 

“Really, Rupert, if you don’t go talk to him, _I will!”_

“What do you want me to say? Hello, little boy. Do you want to go for a ride in my car?” Rupert tore himself away from the banister and collapsed into his seat with his back to the party. 

“Maybe not like that, but the Jag is a good start.” 

"Mn—No. Not the Jag. Sold that one for a Mustang.” 

“A Mustang!? You really can’t be serious! A Jaguar for a Mustang?” 

"What?” 

“A _Corvette,_ I could understand. A _Cadillac,_ even. But a Mustang? Anyone can get a Mustang. That _boy_ could probably afford a Mustang with his weekly allowance.” 

"It just sounds filthy when you put it like that,” Rupert muttered. “Figured, you know, while in Rome—as the saying goes. It’s nice,” he insisted when Lily did not look pleased. “It’s a nice…nice green color.” 

“Oh, green like his eyes, huh?” She asked. 

“No, his eyes are hazel,” he said, before catching himself and swearing. 

Lily’s voice cracked harshly with a laugh. She was still snorting and wheezing as she tipped the last of her wine into her mouth. 

"Caught you with that one, didn’t I? Go talk to him! Make friends with him. In a few more years he’ll be ripe for the picking and no one will be able to say anything about it.” 

“They would—and they will,” Rupert said, reminding himself why (for seemingly the hundredth time) he couldn’t go down there and say a word. 

"Not in a court of law, if that’s what you’re worried about. Besides… Kid doesn’t talk to anyone anyway. I doubt he’d say anything if you did ask him to go for a ride in your Mustang." 

"Or maybe he’d like to blackmail me or play a good game of Smear the Queer. It’s better I don’t,” he said, more to himself than her. “’Sides, Leslie R— has been making more of an effort to talk to me than usual.” 

“Ugh, Leslie? Seriously?” Her face scrunched in a grimace as if smelling foul garbage. 

“What?” 

"That blond, yuppie git?” Her face still not losing its expression of disgust. 

"What?” Rupert asked again. There was nothing _wrong_ with Leslie. He was, as Lily had pointed out, tall and slender—wealthy beyond reason—and was heir to countless vineyards, bottling plants, and a technology firm. (He also didn’t know he had an illegitimate half-sister living in Spain. Whether or not she knew about him was still up for debate.) 

“Between you and me, I’d rather you take your chances with the boy.” 

"Rather see me behind bars?” 

“I said take him on a ride in your Mustang, not take him in the backseat. Pervert,” Lily said, looking at him through the smudged and dirty walls of her wineglass. “I’m going to get more wine. Do you want anything?” 

"Food. Anything. I’m absolutely famished,” he said, tipping his head back. 

"Which wine should I get?” Meaning of the two bottles left in his bedroom at the cabin. 

"Either one. It’s up to you.” 

He couldn’t remember what wine she’d brought back with her, but there was a sandwich and a cheese plate he was delighted to have placed before him. 

"I talked to our little friend while I was down there,” Lily said, her mouth full of cheese. 

“You didn’t!” Rupert said, unable to hide his smile. Oh, his friend could read him like a book. 

“I asked him if he was going to talk to Sarah—you know Sarah?” He didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Good. So, I asked him if he was going to talk to her, you know, ask her to dance. He said no—wasn’t interested. I asked who he was interested in dancing with—” 

“Lily, no!” 

“—‘Cause everybody’s got somebody they want to dance with at these stupid things, but he said not a one. Said he rather likes being left alone. I could practically _hear_ him saying ‘if you take the hint,’ you know?” She squealed with the laughter then. “I pushed it a little further—what? I’m drunk! Don’t blame me. ‘S your wine! I pushed it a little further and I asked ‘what, don’t you like girls?’ and you know what he said to me?” 

“He said, ‘sod off, you old whore?’” That got an even louder laugh from his friend. 

"No! He said, ‘I don’t even like people.’ Oh, and he meant it too, Rupe. He meant it! That’s why he never talks to anyone. He hates us. _All_ of us.” 

"He’d fit in right here then,” Rupert said, squirming in his chair to look over the balcony at his party. Pity their French friends Valère and Jacqueline hadn’t been able to make the American leg of the Season. They were just as avoidant of large social gatherings, but had enough prowess to lure others into their isolate group. 

The boy had a wineglass now. Clever thing... 

“I don’t think he’s swinging for anybody’s team just yet,” Lily said, nursing her refreshed glass of wine. “He’s still pretty young. What was it? Thirteen?” 

_“Four_teen,” Rupert corrected. Lily laughed at him again, making him realize she had baited him into the statement on purpose. 

"I remember you at fourteen. Always wore those hockey jerseys because you thought you were going to immigrate to Canada and wanted to look the part.” She chuckled at him and slapped him on the shoulder. 

“For the record, that’s _not_ why I wore them. I just liked Patrick Lebeau… I’ve got one for Hayley Wickenheiser now, only Mother says I can’t wear it.” 

“It’s only a quick shot up the coast to Canada, you know. Show ‘em that jersey and I bet they let you in, no question. Don’t know what kind of car you’re going to buy there, though. Do they make cars in Canada?” 

They bickered a bit longer while Rupert finished up his sandwich and they shared their plate of crackers and cheese. Every now and then, Rupert would look down at the party from the loft, making sure everything was going well and tracking Hal’s movements without meaning to. 

“Really! If you don’t go down there and at least say _hello,_ I’m going to do it for you!” Lily exclaimed. 

“Why? What good will it do? Lily, you know what my father will do if he hears I was—" 

"So what? Valère promised his family would take you in if yours kicked you out. Though I guess...” She smiled at him deviously. “That might present some problems, wouldn’t it?” 

“No,” Rupert said, even though it was futile. She was more than well aware of every infatuation, every crush, and every lover he’d ever had. The Barreau family’s oldest son and heir, sixteen-year-old Valère, was not an exception. 

“Oh, I think it would. But what do I know? I’m just a lush,” Lily said, licking the rim of her wineglass as though to savor the last drops. “With a soft spot for love stories.” 

"Love stories that end with someone in jail? He’s not legal over here. Probably not even legal in...I don’t know. Fuck all. Probably not even legal in China.” 

“If you can’t talk to him without fucking him, something’s wrong with you,” Lily said. 

Rupert growled and let his head fall back against his over-stuffed chair. 

"If I go and talk to him, will you drop it for the rest of the Season? Please?” 

“Only if you let me,” Lily said with a girlish laugh. 

Rupert swallowed the last of his vintage wine, tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, and prepared to take the plunge that could very well ruin the rest of his life. 


	2. Chapter 2

Rupert hadn’t realized just how inebriated he actually was until trying to descend the stairs from the loft to join the party below became a spectacle. The first step made him realize just how swimmy his vision had become, the next had him realizing he was absolutely dizzy. Lily was laughing at him even before he slipped and ended up taking three steps at once before clutching onto the handrail for dear life. Below, one of the party guests laughed and pointed up at him, spurring Rupert to shake off the nerves of his near-death experience and hurry down the last fifteen steps or so. 

“Heavens. Seems one doesn’t quite realize how much he’s had to drink when he doesn’t need to stand,” Rupert said to the gentleman and his wife chuckling at him. 

The man clapped him on the shoulder. 

“I suppose not! Didn’t anyone tell you, you’re not old enough to drink in this country?” He asked, in good humor.

“They keep reminding me, yes, but I do believe it’s a great American pastime to throw parties when one’s parents are out of town. When in Rome, as they say!” Rupert declared, laughing while the man’s wife gave him a smiling yet pitying look.

“I don’t suppose you brought any good scotch to the party, did you? It’s all grocery store top-shelf in here. I can tell the difference!” The gentleman said, holding up his finger as if he’d made a great proclamation. 

The whiskey, scotch, and bourbon were all elevated brands with maybe one or two that could be found in a grocery store, but he let the gentleman flaunt his snobbery and told him he had just the thing.

For twenty minutes he was distracted with locating the bottle hidden in his father’s “private reserve,” and having the waitstaff pour a tumbler for the gentleman and his wife. He knew better than to leave the bottle with them and locked it back where it had been before, keeping the key to the liquor cabinet on his person because he suddenly couldn’t trust anyone with it besides himself. Everyone at the party seemed to be well aware of his level of intoxication, if not by his unruly tongue then his unsteady gait. It wouldn’t be infeasible for the waitstaff or a man for hire to get the idea they could steal a bottle or two and blame it on the boisterous son.

He lost track of Hal while waiting on the gentleman and hiding away the bottle, and very nearly returned to Lily and the over-stuffed chair in the overhang. He finished off what was left of the cheese plate downstairs just before one of the maids could carry it off, then had the bartender pour him two flutes of their finest champagne. 

“I would have to open the final bottle, Mr. Williamson. Is that alright?” The young woman asked, implying without daring to directly suggest that he was doing something he oughtn’t. If only she had the slightest idea just how much he ought not be doing that evening.

“Yes, of course it is. It’s for a guest. Some New Money fellow my father’s been on about. Trying to seal the deal,” he said with a wink.

The woman nodded her head and smiled in understanding. Rupert, through his haze of alcohol, was only the smallest bit aware at that point that the staff had been spying on him with orders to report back home.

“And what of the rest of the bottle, Sir? Shall I mention it to the guests? I wouldn’t want it to go bad.”

“Save it, please. If it gets to be, oh...” He checked his watch, saw that it was nearing eight-thirty already meaning guests would be filing out by ten, and clicked his tongue. “Let’s say ten-thirty and I haven’t come back for it, we’ll give a couple glasses to Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson. They’ll be staying here until Wednesday. I think they have the palate to appreciate it.”

And then, just as Rupert was about to turn away from the bar and make his rounds looking for Hal, he was sidetracked a second time. In this instance, it was Leslie R—.

“Don’t tell me that’s the vintage Dom Perignon. Closing out the night already?” He asked, that sneer still on his face. He was a vision in charcoal gray, a stormy patterned tie clipped in with a shimmering gold tiepin with a blood-colored ruby accent. 

“Yes. Afraid so,” Rupert said, not realizing he was down a champagne flute until he heard the bartender pouring another wordlessly. He heard the clinking of glass and looked back at her, almost asking what she thought she was doing, then noticed the absence of a cold glass stem in his right hand—and the sudden presence of one in Leslie’s.

“You know… It’s all too obvious what you’re up to. Ask any one of these people and they’ll say the same thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rupert said, taking up the glass the bartender poured to replace Leslie’s pilfered one. 

“It’s that boy again, isn’t it? Oh, Rupert… Rupert, when are you going to learn? We see _everything._ It’s not going to be long before it gets back to your parents _and_ his,” Leslie said, his face going soft for a moment, losing it’s typical sneer. His gray eyes that matched his remarkably tailored suit almost looked genuine, sympathetic. Kind. _Almost._

“I haven’t done anything,” Rupert said, unconsciously ducking his head while trying to force on an air of innocence. There was a very weighty “yet” hanging, unspoken, in the air between them.

“Why don’t you bring those upstairs. I got my room ready.”

“You’re not staying,” Rupert said before quickly catching himself and tacking on, “Er, I was _told_ you weren’t staying, at any rate. You… You changed your mind?”

“Yes,” Leslie said, his sneer back. “Change of plans. Seems I had too much to drink and I lent my keys to Jamie.” 

“We have drivers,” Rupert said, even though his rational albeit woozy brain knew a lie when he heard one. “I could call for one. Shame to let your hotel room go to waste.”

Then, as if the bartender were not right there—and, as far as Leslie was concerned, she didn’t count as a being in attendance—Leslie pressed Rupert back against the bar and pinned him there. He took a sip of champagne while staring Rupert dead in the eyes. 

“It’ll be waste of my room here if you spend your whole night with some kid that doesn’t know anything. Any lazy, inexperienced thing he could do for you, we both know _I_ could do a thousand times better.”

All Rupert could muster, all he could force out with his hands full of champagne losing its fizz and nowhere to run, was a sudden, almost forceful, “Ah!” of acknowledgment.

Leslie said some descriptor of the room he was in and tacked on a simple, “choice is yours. Make the right one,” before wandering off, drinking champagne that was never meant for him. Rupert straightened himself, took note of the eyes on him—the cruel and judgmental glances from the party-goers who would no doubt gossip over his misfortune later—and then returned to his initial task: Finding Harold Lowery.

It took about ten minutes, but Rupert eventually found him standing half-shielded by one of the large, red-orange drapes at the far side of the lodge, past the open space meant for dancing or chatting and the stage where the small orchestra was playing something sad. Hal stood facing the wall of windows, staring out at the sunset-lit garden and the shadowy forest beyond. A discarded brandy glass was resting by his feet, hidden by the curtain until Rupert came to stand fully beside him.

Once there, once the boy turned his gaze from the window to Rupert’s face expectantly, all words and coherent thoughts escaped him. He noted a splash of freckles across Hal’s cheeks and the thickness of his eyelashes. He noted the dryness of his lips… The small scar that ran diagonal through the very end of his left eyebrow. 

Someone somewhere in the room dropped a glass which shattered and pulled Rupert from his trance. He and Hal both looked in the direction of the spill, a young woman apologizing profusely while an older lady began fuming about a few splashes of crimson on her baby blue skirt. 

“Marvelous night, isn’t it?” Rupert suddenly blurted out, turning the boy’s gaze back onto him. Oh, he wasn’t prepared for it. He would _never_ be prepared to be the sole subject of the boy’s attention.

Oh, but for heaven’s sake! He was starting to feel as if he were guilty for something and he had barely even extended the proper introductions he was meant to at the party. He was just doing his _job!_

“If you really think so?” Hal said, inclining his head the slightest bit, as if he were inquiring silently if that was the answer Rupert wanted from him.

“I realized earlier that, er, we’ve not met. I-I’m Rupert. This is my parents’ lodge—they weren’t able to make it for the Season, so I—”

“I know. I know who everybody is here. I’m supposed to,” Hal said, meeting Rupert’s gaze a moment or two more and then turning back to the window. 

Rupert realized then that it wasn’t the garden Hal was looking at, but rather the reflection of the party in the glass. He was watching the old woman with her stained skirt be led away by her equally irate husband while the young lady’s date comforted her. 

“It’ll get you places—knowing people, I mean. Sorry I didn’t come by sooner. I’m not very good at this hosting thing. I’ve never had to before.”

“Me either,” Hal said, his voice a heavy sigh as he scanned the window. He seemed to fixate on something in the far left corner of the room, but even when he looked over his shoulder to check he couldn’t see what the boy was so focused on.

He felt it might be strange to ask, but then also couldn’t place his finger on why.

“So I… I couldn’t help but notice that you were sort of, er, how would you say… A connoisseur of all kinds of alcohol.”

Suddenly, Hal’s eyes went very wide and he was looking up at Rupert almost in terror. It made his stomach twist and he seriously considered setting the glasses down and making a trip to the lavatory to vomit. That look made him realize exactly who he was talking to. A child; a child scared of getting in trouble with an _adult._

If he were a descent person, Rupert would have smiled and told him to be more cautious and left him alone. Maybe if he were better, he’d tell the boy’s parents to keep closer tabs on him. 

But he was neither descent nor good. He was sick; he _knew_ he was sick, because when Hal looked at him in fear, he felt confident. He saw it as a way to earn the boy’s trust. 

“I-I just take whatever people leave behind. It’s not that much,” Hal babbled. “I’ll stop—if it’s that big a deal, I won’t do it. No one else seemed to care at all the other parties, so I didn’t think it’d matter that much.”

“Oh, I’m not mad. Not at all. Where I’m from, you can practically drink at ten. No one bats an eye. Especially not in _this_ society. Actually, I thought you might like to try this.” Rupert extended one of the flutes of champagne which Hal eyed cautiously, looking from the drink to Rupert with a skeptical, distrusting gaze. “It’s a vintage champagne from my father’s reserve. It’s supposed to be for the most celebrated guests, but everyone here is rather all the same.”

“So why do you want to give it to me?” Hal asked, that expression of uncertainty never leaving his face, even as he accepted the glass into his hand.

“Well, no one here’s going to give you a full glass of anything, and I do hate to see someone swallowing leftovers. It’s quite nasty. Drink. It’s good.” Rupert took a rather large mouthful of the champagne for himself which seemed to give Hal the confidence to do the same. 

The boy grimaced at the dry taste, licked his lip as if to be rid of the flavor, and then took another sip. 

“It’s okay,” Hal said, turning to look out the window—or at it, back to watching the party reflected in the glass. 

“I know how dull these parties are for you. I always hated them when I was your age.”

“They’re fine. I’ll at least have something to write about in my essays when I go back to school. They always make you write about what you did over summer vacation. Until this year, I never did anything. Just sat at home.”

“I went to a sleep-away school up through secondary. We didn’t have summers off, but I always got to leave for a week or two, you know, for the Season and all. Just the American and UK legs, anyway.”

“I’m going everywhere,” Hal said, taking another drink—managing not to scrunch up his face too much this time. 

“I’ll be seeing you in Russia then? Visiting the Innyas?”

For some reason, his face seemed to light up at the mention of them and Rupert couldn’t fathom why. Meisha and her brother were both over twenty, and they had younger siblings but none of them had been brought out to the parties for him to have met. 

“Yes! Though, I think Dad said that the next place we’re going is France, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right. The Barreau Family is hosting a rather large party there. Have you heard of them? The Barreau? They’re good friends of mine.”

They chatted a bit about the party schedules and then schoolwork. Hal mentioned that he was going to start his first year of high school and that he’d be attending a new school. He never quite explained why his father changed his enrollment, but at some point he mentioned liking the new uniform better.

“Does everyone is England go to boarding school? I see it in, like, books and movies and stuff all the time. You said you went, too. Is that really a thing? Does anybody keep their kids in their house?”

“Plenty of people do. My parents just wanted me to have the best education money could buy. That just so happened to involve me not being in the house, as well. Not there to mess up the garden or break the antiques. It wasn’t so bad. I made a lot of good friends.”

“Do you still see any of them?”

“A couple. Here and there. My friend Lily and I attended some classes together. I believe you met her.”

“The black-haired girl? White dress?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“She keeps talking to me,” Hal said, sounding perturbed. 

“Does it bother you?” Rupert asked, more curious about why it bothered him since it clearly did.

“I don’t know. I just know she wants something, but I don’t know what.”

Rupert cringed a bit at how clearly irritable Hal sounded.

“I do believe she mentioned that you kind of prefer to be left on your own.”

“Most of the time I do. I don’t know. I don’t get along with a lot of these people. I know you’ve probably heard about that. Same way I’ve heard about you.”

“What have you hear about me?” Rupert asked, pretending he didn’t already know the sorts of things people said behind his back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird… Or, whatever. You know?” Hal swallowed more champagne and Rupert took another sip he didn’t need.

“No, no! I’m just curious. I have a pretty good idea, but I want hear it from you. Consider it payment for the champagne, yeah?” Rupert smiled at him, feeling torn between nervous and oddly giddy.

“Well… They say you’re gay,” Hal said with an almost cartoonish shrug, still staring out the window. 

“That’s what I thought they’d say,” Rupert said, too drunk to form a tactful reply—or to think that maybe his knowledge of the gossip wasn’t just a step in the right direction.

“People care about the stupidest things. That’s why I _hate_ them,” Hal said, looking from the reflection of the party-goers to Rupert. His face was blank now, except the small cringe whenever he took a sip of the champagne. “I really hate them.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re stupid—they’re annoying. They always wanna talk about someone,” Hal said, swallowing two big gulps of champagne until he only had a little bit left in his glass.

“What would you rather talk about?”

“I don’t know. _Anything._ People are boring.”

Rupert went to take another drink, only to find his glass empty and his head spinning.

“You’re certainly not boring,” he said.

Hal looked up at him as if studying the look in his eyes before his face lit up with a smile. 

“Do you want to get burgers?”

“What? Like...right now?” Rupert asked, so taken aback he forgot what the word even meant. Burger? What was a _burger?_

“Yeah. There’s probably a McDonald’s around here, right? All I’ve had tonight was the fish dinner and some cheese and weird people’s booze,” Hal said. If Rupert had been a better man, he would’ve realized the way the boy’s words had started to slur.

“I’ve had far too much to drink to drive somewhere to get burgers… Maybe the servants could make some,” Rupert said, looking around at the dwindling population of people in the room. 

“It’s fine, then,” Hal said, not sounding disappointed or indifferent. “Maybe another time.” He flourished his empty glass and Rupert had half the mind to think this wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t going how he’d planned—not that he’d really planned it. 

Oh, what was he thinking? He’d run through this scenario a thousand times and each one had him come off as some suave hero when in reality he was nothing more than a bumbling fool.

“Do you need a refresher? There’s more in the bottle. I’m supposed to give it to honored guests, but… Hell, I don’t know who my father cares to do business with. I’m not… I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t really _care_ who he’s trying to do business with—who needs to set up an account for the kid they had with someone other bitch. Do you want more? ‘Cause I have a lot. Left. I have a lot _left.”_

“Yeah—Sure. My dad left like…two hours ago?” Hal said, inflecting his words like a question and then laughing as if they were a joke. “Mom went home and...Dad likes to find other women. I pretend I don’t see it. It works out for me. Whenever I know something he doesn’t, I get more things.”

“What kind of things?” Rupert asked, inclining his head toward the bar and starting in that direction. Hal followed him and Rupert was too far gone to note the looks his bartender gave him as she poured them both a fresh glass of champagne. 

They ended up walking together, outside. It was pitch dark, and before long there was dew on the tall grass between the trees. Rupert had led Hal down to the stream, talking about his childhood and how he had come down here in the past to catch frogs and snakes which he unleashed on his mother who shrieked in fear and scolded him. Hal talked about school and the teachers he didn’t like and why he _thought_ he was being moved to a different district. 

He was holding something back, Rupert had thought. Hal had some secret he wasn’t telling, but he knew better than to ask. Something about the words he said just didn’t feel..._true._

Rupert knew better than to say so. Hal would reveal what he wanted, and anything he wanted to share was more than Rupert deserved. 

They walked together for hours and hours, carrying their glasses with them through the woods until they found themselves outside the chain link fence to a superstore parking lot. For some reason, that caused Hal to laugh and throw his champagne flute to the ground. 

Something about the noise of it, the humor and elation in his voice, had Rupert throwing down his glass as well and howling at the sky like a wolf. Hal laughed and did the same—never once mentioning the hour, never once commenting on the fact that the sun was starting to rise. 

“You’re staying at the lodge until Wednesday, right? Before the flights leave for the UK?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Hal said, ripping leaves off the bushes they passed as they made their way back to the lodge. “Doubt I’ll see my dad again before that. Did you know he forgot to book me a room when we went to that banquet in New York? The Stevies, or whoever? He didn’t get me a room.”

“The Stevenson banquet? Didn’t you just stay at their house?”

“No—No, he had a hotel and I didn’t,” Hal said. “He didn’t get me a room and he and Mom had had a fight, right? So I was afraid to tell him. So I just… I sat in the hallway all night. I just...sat there, til morning with my suitcase and shit. He was mad my hair was messed up.”

When Rupert opened the back door to the lodge—well, after security let them in through the patio door—the place was eerily quiet. No servants bustling about, no guests congregating in the open space now turned back into living quarters. There weren’t even any signs of an orchestra having a stage in the open space at all. 

Rupert led Hal behind the bar along the far wall, still stocked with all the liquor any man could possibly want. He poured the boy a tumbler of honey whiskey—bottom shelf. The grocery-store tier garbage that old man had been going on about.

Hal seemed to like it and they took the bottle up to his room, sipping straight from it as they talked.

As _Hal_ talked.

Rupert could think of no sound better than his voice—his soft, gentle tone that only seldom broke with anger or humor or exhaustion.

The sun rose and they were both drunk again, laying on the floor beside the guest room bed. Being close to him was so much better than Rupert had ever envisioned. He didn’t dare try to grasp his hand or make a move—to be honest, he didn’t really want to. He liked having Hal close, he liked hearing his stories and getting to know him. He’d heard so many whispers about the kid—about how he was spoiled and rude and “anti-social.” None of those rumors held any weight compared to the stories Hal told. There was a time or two he mentioned his parents—his father who cheated without discretion on his mother, and his mother who carrier a flask in her designer handbag to make it through the day.

Rupert kept decidedly quiet about his family and its affairs. There wasn’t much that was interesting about him, not like there was with Hal. To Rupert, Hal was fascinating… Magnificent. 

He was this new, stunning person—full of mystery and life and possibilities. 

At some point, Rupert turned onto his side to find the boy asleep and his glass tipped over, spilling its last few drops of honey whiskey onto the carpeting. He stared at him a while—a long while—in the morning sunlight. He saw the way his eyelashes caressed his cheeks, the way the shimmering fabric of the curtains cast shadows on his freckled cheeks. Rupert drank in the sighs Hal let out in his drunken sleep and the cowlick in his brown hair. 

It was with a slow, shaking hand that Rupert reached out and ran his fingers through those short, choppy locks. They were silken, slightly greasy toward the roots but that was to be expected after a night of drinking with no shower. Rupert savored it, memorized it, then got up and fled the room. 

His limbs still shook just as they had when he’d descended the stairs from the loft the night before, but inside he felt so much more calm and at ease. It was like a thirst had been quenched—a hunger slaked. 

He hadn’t done anything wrong, Rupert told himself. He hadn’t touched him, hadn’t hurt him.

He never _wanted_ to. The very last thing in the world he wanted was to see the boy in pain. 

Rupert made his way back to his own bedroom, the room he’d had in the lodge ever since he’d been a little boy, and laid himself down on the bed. His mind was racing, heart too full of bad ideas to let him sleep. Somehow, he didn’t feel tired. Somehow, in the cold black pit of his tumultuous, ocean of a heart, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

By the time afternoon came and a member of the household staff knocked at his door, Rupert was still awake—still alert—and happy to know that it was only Sunday. 

The world still had so many more possibilities to uncover.


	3. Chapter 3

The hangover which hit him around two-thirty in the afternoon was very nearly enough to leave Rupert buried under a mound of blankets and pillows—blocking out all light and sound. Given the opportunity, he no doubt would’ve taken it, but instead he found himself accompanying three of his guests on an overpriced late lunch date. The stink of seafood in the restaurant made him want to vomit and he had to twice excuse himself from the table to retch in the polished, black and gold bathroom. 

After lunch, they wanted carted around the city to shop and sight-see, leaving Rupert carsick in the back of the limo and wishing his Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses had an even darker tint. He tried his best to entertain the Klaskys and their daughter, knowing he should probably try a bit harder to seal some sort of business deal with Mr. Klasky before the Season was over. However, he found his attention focused more on his text messages to Lily back at the lodge. 

She was tiptoeing through her own hangover, unable to eat and in desperate need of electrolytes. This proclamation was followed by an unwarranted photo of her own vomit in her bathroom sink. 

Rupert tucked his Blackberry into his pocket after that and had to struggle to swallow down the bits of salad that tried to rise in his throat. Her condition and his own suddenly did bring him jarringly back to the state in which he’d left Hal the night before. The details were a haze—a smear of talking here, a flicker of walking outside there—but he distinctly remembered touching Hal’s hair and fleeing back to his bedroom before he could be caught, leaving the boy asleep and alone.

Inadvertently disregarding a question Mr. Klasky directed at him, Rupert deleted Lily’s unwarranted picture message and gave her a description of where to find Hal’s room and a plea to go check on him. He stared at his phone, positively nerve-wracked by the idea that the boy had somehow succumbed to alcohol poisoning in the night and no one knew. His father had left him there with no guardian, no chaperon—no one to realize he wasn’t awake and alright. 

“Is anything the matter, dear boy?” Mrs. Klasky asked, voice suggesting she was more annoyed at being ignored than concerned for his well-being.

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid...one of our guests forgot their, er, child...at the lodge last night.”

“Oh! Oh dear.” Now she actually bothered to sound concerned. 

“That does pose a problem,” Mr. Klasky added, patting his daughter on the shoulder as if he meant to silently send the message that he would never be so careless as to misplace his progeny. 

“Yes… My head of staff just made me aware. So terribly sorry. I don’t mean to be rude,” he added, putting his Blackberry away before Lily texted back with any information. 

She seemed to be intent on torturing him, arguing about why she should have to check on him—asking him what he’d done and demanding details from the night before as payment before she would burden herself with the task. 

Rupert tried to carry on with business as usual, resisting the temptation to check his phone compulsively as they stopped at another boutique. He had to pull his sunglasses down to cover his eyes while in the store, pretending to be interested in the dresses Mr. Klasky’s daughter was trying on—nervous that she was trying them on for _him_ despite the very true rumor about him floating through their social circle.

Finally, after nearly an hour from the time he had first asked, Lily sent him a photograph of Hal still asleep and in his bed—brown hair a mess, sticking up and spread across his pillow. 

_He’s fine. Woke him up on accident tho. Taking him 2 get waffles?? Where car keys?_

Rupert told her and heaved a sigh of relief that was almost immediately swallowed up by another swell of fear. What would Lily say to Hal if they went out together? What embarrassing stories would she tell? She was his best friend and he wanted to trust her, but that gnawing anxiety refused to leave. Last night, what he remembered of it anyway, had been good and pure and _fun._ One hungover, ill-worded or careless thought being spoken out loud could undo everything. 

Again and again, Rupert reminded himself he hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t _touched_ him. He hadn’t _made a move._ All he did was give him alcohol—alcohol after he was already drinking anyway. It wasn’t so unusual at the parties anyway. Everybody was drinking. Rupert was drinking rum and Cherry Coke from the time he was ten. What he’d done _wasn’t that bad._ So why couldn’t he calm himself down? Why was he bordering on hyperventilating in the back of the limo, heading back to the lodge?

His green Mustang was still missing when they returned and he bid an apologetic farewell to the Klaskys before rushing back to his bedroom suite. He threw up the small bit of food left in his stomach and continued dry heaving until he heard a soft knock from somewhere seemingly far away, followed by another on the door to his bathroom. 

“Rupe? You okay in there, love?” Lily asked, sounding more compassionate than she had any other time he’d suffered from a hangover and his own relentless, cyclical thoughts. Shamefully, it happened more often than he’d like to admit—especially when he’d been around Hal’s age. “Can I come in, darling?”

“Fine—I’m fine,” Rupert choked out, flushing the toilet quickly and grappling for the sink in order to pull himself onto his feet. “Just a moment… Just, er—hang on.”

“Okay...” Lily said, her voice wavering a bit with suspicion.

Rupert washed his hands, then his face with the same pine-scented hand soap that left his tear ducts burning. 

“You look like a damn mess. You went out with the Klaskys like that?” Lily said, not looking much better herself. Her eyes were still bloodshot and bruised with want of sleep.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t look so bad if you’d just told me Hal was fine instead of playing like that. I practically had a panic attack in the limo—in _front_ of the Klaskys.” He tried not to make his posture defensive, knowing it wasn’t her fault that their typical games had pushed him just past the edge this go round. 

“Probably not my brightest moment,” Lily said, offering him an empathetic grin. “I’m sorry, Rupe. I didn’t know you were that worried about it.”

“I thought he might’ve...I don’t know, _died_ or something.” He felt shame in admitting it—knowing it was his fault for the situation to begin with. He’d let himself get far too wasted with Hal in his charge, putting the boy in danger and not even realizing it until it could have been far too late. 

“He’s alright though. Promise. I think he drinks a lot more than you think he does. He’d have to to keep up with you all night. Guarantee it, love.”

To that, Rupert had nothing to say. 

“Would it help if I told you he liked the Mustang?” Lily asked, ducking her head a bit and smiling at him.

Rupert’s mind scattered in several directions, as if ripped apart by a black hole. He ended up squeaking out an awkward, “Yeah?” which had Lily giggling and scrubbing at her face with her hands.

“You really are hopeless,” she laughed. 

“Did he actually?” Rupert asked.

“Yes! _Yes,_ he ‘actually’!” She said, adding air quotes for emphasis. 

“Well, what did he say exactly? Nice car? Because that doesn’t mean he actually—”

“Oh, my Lord. Rupert! You’re _hopeless!_ I’m not ‘actually’ giving you a play by play of every single thing that was said.” The wild look in her dark brown eyes implied that she would—once she was through tormenting him.

“I think I’m owed that much after all you’ve done to me this afternoon. Giving me a panic attack, and all that.”

“Oh, fine, you big baby,” she said, rolling her eyes before making her way across the room to the bed and sinking down, patting the space beside her. Rupert collapsed next to her and the immediately laid back, his legs dangling over the edge with his arms folded behind his head. A moment later, Lily did the same. 

She recanted the story of going to Hal’s room and finding him still sound asleep, all a mess—just as she had shown Rupert in the photo message—and that he woke up as she was closing the door behind her on her way out. He asked who was there and she couldn’t “resist” going back inside and hearing his side of the events since Rupert hadn’t told her “nearly enough.” 

“He asked me what time it was and if his dad had come back for him—I didn’t know about his dad, but he really didn’t seem that worried about it. No one on the staff who saw us leave said anything either. You do suppose they would say _something_ if Mr. Lowery had come looking for him?”

Rupert shrugged, really not certain, but said, “Most definitely,” just to reassure them both.

“Anyway, when I said I didn’t know, he asked what I wanted. I just told him you’d sent me to make sure he survived the night. Got a real kick out of that, he did. Anyway, he said he was fine and I said ‘good’ or whatever and tried to leave—but he stops me and goes ‘Hey, is there food downstairs?’ I told him no, not anymore, and he just blurts out, “Can we go for waffles then or something? I can buy.’ I don’t know how he does it. I woke up with a hangover from Hell and he’s all ‘let’s go get breakfast!’ You always find the weirdest people. All freaks of nature.”

Rupert laughed then, imagining Hal must’ve gotten up at some point in the night to re-hydrate himself—that or he had somehow slept the entire thing off. 

“Anyway, I got your keys and had one of the staff pull the car around and he was _so_ excited, Rupert. He was so excited. You must’ve picked the perfect car. Forget the white van with candy and puppies, if you want an American, just buy a Mustang.” 

“I told you, it’s a great car! It goes fast and everything,” Rupert said, ignoring her insinuation that he was a pedophile.

“My Porsche goes fast. Your Mustang just goes. But that’s beside the point,” Lily said, rolling her eyes at him. His car wasn’t luxurious enough for her, but that was fine. It was never meant to attract her anyway. “He got in the car and was running his hands all over everything—literally everything. He thought it was my car. I let him think it for a while, but he figured it out right before we got to the restaurant. Great little all-day breakfast place. Really good poached eggs. You’ll have to try it sometime—”

“I don’t care about the breakfast, Lily! What did you tell him about me?” 

“You’re so impatient! It’s really very rude!” The laugh which followed showed she cared very little about his impropriety. 

“Get on with it then!” He exclaimed, laughing at her while the giddy feeling of being helpless and hopeful fluttered around in his chest. What would Hal say about him? What would he ask? There was no doubt in his mind now that Lily would only have said the very best of things about him. He didn’t know why he’d been so nervous before. It really was unbecoming and irrational.

“Rude… Anyway, we get our breakfast—you know, he ate _three_ plates of waffles?”

“Just waffles?” Rupert asked.

_“Just waffles._ Didn’t want eggs, didn’t want bacon—nothing. Just waffles and half the bottle of syrup they had on the table. Sugar with more sugar. A real American _kid.”_

Rupert didn’t miss the emphasis on her word, but rather chose to ignore it and its implications for the time being. If she didn’t think he realized what he was doing by now—what she herself had encouraged him to do last night—she was as much of a lost cause as himself.

“So he likes sweets? Most of America does. I know for a fact you spent an entire summer eating nothing but cream horns and pastries—”

“And I _gained_ a whole stone!”

“I don’t believe that for a minute. You still weighed less than me… Anyway, he’s used to the diet. Do you have anything relevant to tell me or are you planning to keep torturing me the rest of the night with stories about food? I can’t even imagine ever being hungry again after this afternoon.” 

“Fine, fine. I asked him what he got up to last night and he told me you gave him some champagne and went on a walk ‘til morning. He asked what kind of person you were and I told him you were fun—”

“Fun?”

“Well, you are! You’re fun to be around. You’re lively. You’re not all businesslike, like Valère and the Innyas. You bury your head in the sand a lot, but so do I. Can’t fault you there…” She paused a moment and when Rupert turned his head to look at her, she was squinting up at the ceiling with serious concentration.

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just thinking…” Still, the expression remained.

“About?”

“I don’t know… He seemed different at breakfast.”

“He was probably hungover. You were too.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. When I talked to him at the beach and at the party last night, he had this… I don’t quite know how to describe it. It’s not like he had his guard up and wanted to push people away, it was like he really didn’t want to be bothered. He really didn’t want anyone around him, but once he asked me for something… I don’t know. He was just a lot more friendly. He seemed interested in me until I told him it was your car. Then he got all excited and started asking about you instead.”

“But what did he _say_ about me?” Rupert asked.

“I don’t know—all sorts of things. He said he had fun last night. Said you two found some kind of parking lot in the middle of the woods and that you kept him company. He asked where you were about three different times. I don’t know if he couldn’t remember me telling him that you were out with the Klaskys or if he thought I was lying and trying to catch me off guard.”

Rupert felt his lips twisting into a smile he couldn’t repress. Hal had asked after him—even if it was just out of curiosity or friendship, the boy still had him in mind. He hadn’t ruined anything or made him uncomfortable. Little by little, all the tension he’d built up that afternoon was slowly slipping away. 

“What happened when you two got back?” Rupert asked.

“His father’s still not here, I don’t think. I told Hal I was going to come looking for you and he said he wanted to shower and change clothes.”

“You mean he didn’t—”

“Nope. Went out to breakfast in last night’s clothes—clothes he wore to bed. We probably looked like a hot mess, the two of us. Good thing it wasn’t a nice restaurant we went to. People might’ve actually noticed.”

Rupert asked her how she was feeling now that she’d managed to keep down a meal and they talked about plans to go out later if neither of them were pulled away by business. Rupert doubted the Klaskys would want to go out again, and from what Lily was telling him, many of the party-goers from last night were nursing their hangovers or making plans amongst themselves. 

“You don’t suppose…if Mr. Lowery doesn’t come back, that—”

“We can invite him out. ‘Course we can. Won’t be able to hit the bars though… No one’s going to believe he’s over twenty-one, even with a really convincing fake ID.”

“Should I… You know, if Mr. Lowery isn’t back—should I call him? Should I tell somebody?”

“Rupert, he’s not a little five-year-old or something. How many times did your dad leave you at the Innyas to take meetings?”

“But Mother was always there—”

“And how many times at the Barreau house was your father away for happy hours and dinners while your mother was MIA?”

“Yes, but the Barreau are our closest friends. And they’ve got guards crawling everywhere...”

“What I’m saying is mind your own business. Mr. Lowery said he and his son would be staying until Wednesday, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then it’s a _non-issue_ until Thursday. If you call him or try to bother him, he’s going to say the same thing. And if you tell your father about it…”

“He’d say to find a way to turn it into a business deal,” Rupert muttered. He could practically hear his father telling him how to twist it around to serve some financial benefit. 

_“Watching over Hal was really a great pleasure. No trouble at all, Sir. If I may suggest, Mr. Lowery, have you considered opening an account with us? We have the most discreet financial and estate planning services without any need for those Swiss associates or the notoriety of an open account in the Cayman Islands. Did I mention that personal friends of ours are given additional amenities that our usual clients aren’t afforded? Would you like to schedule a time to discuss it further? We would love to host you at our Redbridge estate. You _can_ bring your family, of course, but I think business is best served man-to-man. What do you say?”_

Mr. Lowery would say “that sounds great,” and all would be settled.

His father would be pleased with him… It would be a win-win situation as far as Rupert was concerned, now that he thought about it. He could spend time with Hal and use business as a cover without his father or anyone else growing suspicious. If anyone asked, if anyone got the wise idea to tell his father he was hanging around a boy again, he would just tell them he was seeking Irving Lowery’s favor. All that New Money…surely he’d like to invest or save some of it.

The dinner hour came and went without any requests to talk business or accompany a group to try a new restaurant. It also passed without any sign of Irving Lowery. At around seven-thirty, Rupert asked the head butler if he’d heard from the man about what to do with Hal, and had received the answer he’d been expecting. Young Mr. Lowery was a guest until Wednesday evening. Mr. Lowery’s room was prepared and ready for when he returned from his “meetings.”

“Suppose I shall have to bring him with me and Lily to dinner then,” Rupert said, making a point to sound frustrated with the arrangement so the man did not realize quite how excited the prospect made him.

“Very good, sir,” the butler said, and excused himself to some other task of importance. Rupert, meanwhile, set about finding Hal. 

He wasn’t in his room this time and had avoided the common areas where some of the other families were becoming acquainted—that is to say, gossiping. Leslie and his parents were taking up residence in the smaller parlor, drinking wine. The blond looked irritated when he laid eyes on Rupert, but he did his best to pretend he hadn’t noticed as he exchanged pleasantries with the R– family patriarch. 

Hal didn’t appear to be outside unless he’d wandered off into the woods again, wasn’t in the kitchen looking for snacks, and wasn’t in the game room either. It really had Rupert quite perturbed until he went back to the common area and slid behind the bar to seek out a quick tumbler of bourbon. 

As it turned out, Hal had made something of a barfly out of himself and had been drinking craft beers from the cooler beneath the bar since returning from his late lunch. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed or startled when Rupert stumbled across him and his little row of empty bottles.

“Those are quite strong, you know?” Rupert said.

“Pretty expensive too, right?” Hal asked, his tone matching Rupert’s before a smile burst across his lips and he laughed. “I got bored.”

“There’s better places to hang out to drink.”

“I tried that, but I kept running into people and they would act all holier than thou and take my drinks away. Nobody gave a damn what I did last night. Not sure why today’s so different.”

“They’re all hungover now—and _sober._ They’re not all too caught up in the party to notice.”

“Guess that’s true,” Hal said, keeping his hazel eyes locked on Rupert’s as he tipped back his beer and took another long drink. “You don’t seem to care that much.”

“I was your age once. As long as you don’t go smashing the bottles on my floor or vomiting everywhere, I don’t care what you do.” Rupert tried to make it sound casual, tried to smile, but all he could muster was an over exaggerated shrug of the shoulders that made Hal laugh around the mouth of his bottle. “What?”

“I’m not dumb enough to do any of that. Besides, I knew you wouldn’t care. You were the one who kept _giving_ me drinks. If you tried to go back on it now…”

“What? Are you saying you’d blackmail me?” Rupert asked, managing to sound cheeky as opposed to afraid—even as the smallest tremors of anxiety began dancing their way up and down his spine.

“Maybe,” Hal said, shrugging but still smiling in his almost-pleasant way. It was similar to the sneer Leslie often wore, though less practiced and somehow more innocent. Leslie sneered because he would get his way; Hal did so in hopes that he would. That was the difference. 

“I was looking for you earlier. Seems your father hasn’t come back yet.”

“He won’t,” Hal said, taking a cell phone out of his pocket with a flourish. “He called when your friend and I were at the restaurant and left me a voicemail. He said he wouldn’t be back until Thursday. He called your dad or something. I don’t know. Do you want to hear the voicemail?” 

Rupert thought to say no, that he trusted what Hal had said, but then another part of his brain suggested it would be in his best interest to at least check the facts before rushing blindly ahead. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in this game and end up accused of kidnapping. 

“If I could, please,” Rupert said, extending his hand. Hal nodded and pressed a few buttons on his phone before passing it into Rupert’s palm. Their skin touched a moment—and then a moment longer. Rupert was staring dumbly down at the phone in his hand and the place where Hal’s tanned fingers were resting against it. Then realized the boy was staring at him and quickly pulling back, trying to disguise the sudden tremor in his fingers as he regarded the screen and pressed the button to play the voicemail.

_“It’s Irving. Let me know when you get this. I’m going to be out until Thursday. Meetings. I’m calling your host’s father to see if it’s alright to extend. I’ve transferred extra funds into your account. Use it for food this time. I don’t want to see any additional withdrawals.”_

Rupert pressed pause on the phone and handed it back, not needing to hear any more about the boy’s bank accounts or spending habits—no matter how much his father would like him to be interested in those facts.

“Your father addresses himself to you by his first name?” Rupert asked.

“I thought you guys were supposed to know everything about everybody,” Hal said, by way of an answer. 

“It’s my father who knows everything about everyone. Not me, I’m afraid. I don’t really look through our records all that much. Why? Is there something I should know?” 

Hal smirked at him and shrugged before adding the empty bottle in his hand to the little row beside him. 

“You tell me."


	4. Chapter 4

Late Sunday, they had all three gone out together, letting Hal pick a chain restaurant of some sort which served food until two in the morning. Their waiter accepted Lily and Rupert’s fake IDs without question, leaving Hal looking some kind of intrigued—some mix of fascinated and annoyed as he ate over-cooked fried chicken strips. The late dinner went well, Rupert thought. Maybe too well.

He remembered sitting on the hood of his car next to Hal with Lily laying across the roof, staring up at the cloudy sky from the back of a superstore parking lot. Rupert had been too drunk to trust himself to drive just yet without getting immediately caught, and truthfully had nowhere he wanted to go. The lodge had Leslie and a bunch of other nosy guests in it. All Rupert really wanted was to be with Hal.

Be _alone_ with him. Even then, drunk as he was, he knew he couldn’t just turn around and tell Lily to take a hike, or drop her off at the lodge and speed away. 

Oh, but he _wanted_ to. 

As they sat on the hood of the car together, Rupert could feel Hal stealing little glances at him. He would check Rupert’s face, then look out at the other cars in the parking lot. Then he’d examine his shoes and look at Rupert again. 

“Did you always have a Mustang?” Hal asked at one point.

“Nope!” Declared Lily, invading their conversation from atop the car.

“No,” Rupert replied, much more controlled. “I used to have a Jaguar here.”

“A Jag? Really? You’re definitely more of a Mustang guy.”

Rupert felt himself smile at that and he clapped Hal on the shoulder, lingering longer than he should have before pulling back. Hal didn’t seem to mind.

“Mustangs are a dime a dozen. Just like this loser,” Lily chimed in again. Rupert sent a nasty glare over his shoulder that Lily couldn’t possibly have seen. That set the mood for the rest of their evening.

Hal asked around two-thirty if there was anything else to be done with the night and when Rupert had tried suggesting something a little harder than chain restaurant mixed drinks, Lily demanded they go back to the lodge and talked the whole way—as if to drive a wedge between Rupert and Hal. 

“He’s just a kid,” Lily had snapped at him once Hal had gone off to his room to sleep.

“You had no problems with that at the beach or the party. You _told_ me, ‘go talk to him or I will.’ Remember?”

“Yeah, because I thought it was harmless! I thought you’d talk to him and get it out of your system! Rupert, he’s just a kid—he can’t even go to an R rated movie by himself. He can’t _drive._ He can’t _drink._ He’s too young for you!”

“We’re just _talking,”_ Rupert insisted.

“No! No, you’re not! I _know_ you! I know that look you get.”

“What _look?”_

“It doesn’t matter! I’m not going to argue with you. You know what you’re doing. You _know_ that it’s wrong; you know _why_ it’s wrong.”

She had a point, but Rupert was trying his hardest not to see it. In the pit of his guts, he knew she was right. He had known it from the moment he’d laid eyes on Hal Lowery and felt his stomach flutter with want. If he was good or decent or proper, he would’ve stayed as far from the boy as possible. If he was worth a _damn,_ he would have avoided Hal like the plague until he was at least two or three years older. He had all of these logical and rational thoughts playing on repeat in the back of his mind, all day and all night, but they were getting drowned out by the desire. A scratched record, no matter how poignant, had no chance of surviving in an inferno. 

In all of his thoughts, all of his rational fantasies about how his conversations with Hal would play out, he hadn’t considered the boy would reciprocate. He imagined Hal being unaware—thinking Rupert was just kind and attentive, not interested. He also imagined Hal being repulsed and aggressive and shoving Rupert away from him in disgust. 

He never would have thought that one night on the hood of his Mustang, he’d put his hand on Hal’s shoulder and have the boy smiling back at him with unmistakable adoration in his eyes.

Could he really be that bad, that sick and evil, if Hal wanted him too?

<s>Yes.</s> No.

Rupert managed to find time to do business on Monday, putting a few prospective clients down for later meetings once the Season was over. He learned that the older gentleman who complained about the whiskey being grocery store tier had a two-year-old son with an eighteen-year-old girl and was more than happy to arrange a trust and education fund for his only male heir. (Knowing that a man well into his fifties had impregnated a sixteen-year-old girl had Rupert feeling slightly better about his situation with Hal.)

He and Lily went on an awkward lunch date while Hal stayed back at the lodge to dine with the other families who were enjoying the talents of their guest chef (someone made famous by the Food Network, but Rupert couldn’t remember who). Lily reminded him again toward the end of the meal that it wasn’t a good idea for him to spend much more time with Hal going forward. 

“If I thought you could control yourself, I wouldn’t worry, but I know that look in your eyes.”

“What _look!?”_

“It’s the same one you always gave Valère, and look where that got you…”

He didn’t want to think about where “that look” may or may not have gotten him. So he told her to drop it and finished his tea before leaving cash on the table to cover the check. Lily followed him out into the parking lot with her arms crossed over her chest in annoyance. She didn’t speak to him the entire drive back to the lodge.

He didn’t see her the rest of the evening after that. He mingled with the guests he was meant to mingle with, avoided dinner plans that were thrust upon him by Leslie R–, and then locked himself in his bedroom Monday night with the intent to smoke in peace. He made it half way through a marijuana cigarette when a loud knock at his bedroom door cut through the noise of the music he was listening to with headphones. He threw them off onto the bed and put out the cigarette, looking around the room as if he’d be able to find something to hide the telltale scent from whoever had come in search of him. If it was any of the guests, his father would kill him—he truly hoped it wasn’t his head of staff who would gladly report it back to his family in Redbridge as well. 

Somehow, the true culprit was so much worse than either of those two options.

A small, “Hey, it’s Hal” had Rupert fumbling off his bed, turning up the brightness on his bedside lamp, and opening the door with awkward grace—smoothing down his messy hair as he bid the boy good evening.

“Whoa. You smoke?” Hal said, instantly beaming. He looked both humored and excited, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Hal wanted in on it.

“Here and there,” Rupert said, leaning out the doorway to look up and down the hall for any other guests. There shouldn’t be any on his end of the lodge, but you never knew who would decide to go exploring and when.

“Are you gonna share?” Hal asked, not making any motions to come further into the room.

Rupert checked the hallway again and then let him inside. The initial tension fled his body after they finished the joint together. He had felt the gnawing of guilt in his stomach as he watched Hal take it from his fingers the first time or two, but the way he put it to his lips so casually, the way he breathed out thin trails of potent smoke from his slightly parted lips, put him at ease. It was fine; he’d done this before. Rupert wasn’t corrupting him—hadn’t introduced him to a world of drugs and danger and all that.

He _wasn’t a bad person._

Rupert tried telling himself this over and over as the last bit of the cigarette was left to ash in the tea saucer serving as an ashtray. Hal was looking at him expectantly and Rupert felt about three inches tall under the weight of his gaze. 

“Can I ask you something? Kind of personal?” Hal asked. Rupert had expected to be asked if he had more drugs—or if he could get Hal more drugs. Instead, Hal asked, “Is your friend trying to get with me?”

“What? Who?—Lily?” Rupert stuttered, going to reach for a cigarette that didn’t exist anymore. Hal laughed at that a lot harder than he should have.

“Yeah, her!” Hal said, still chuckling. 

“Why would you ask me that?” Rupert asked, still so baffled that Hal would even come to that conclusion. 

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging casually while keeping a very stern attention on Rupert’s eyes. “It just seems like every time you and me try to talk to each other, she gets in the way.”

“You really think so?” Rupert asked.

“And she was always trying to talk to me before.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I don’t know. I thought she might be cool when we went out for breakfast that one time, but she’s not really my type.”

“Your type—”

“And the way she shit all over your Mustang was really annoying. Like ‘ooo, look at me. I drive a Porsche. I’m so chic.’ It’s tacky.”

Rather than speak ill of his friend, Rupert offered a weak, “She’s much too old for you at any rate, huh? She turned twenty in March.”

He was ashamed to admit he was staring in an attempt to drink in the slightest changes in Hal’s body language as he said it. All the boy did was pick at the blanket underneath him and shrug. 

“I don’t know. She just thinks she’s better than you and it’s annoying. The whole time I was trying to talk to you, any time you’d try to say anything, she’d just butt in and make it about her. I don’t know how to make it any more obvious that I’m not interested in _her._ She’s hot but she’s no different from Sarah Shelton or Erin Klasky.”

“Why do you say that? She’s really great when you—”

“She’s really _not,”_ Hal said, the firm tone in his voice an exact copy of every businessman ever who didn’t want the issue pushed any further. “She’s jealous of you. Like she has some weird right to me or something because she talked to me first. News flash, chick. I’m not interested. Go away,” Hal muttered, looking at the tea saucer. “Is there any more?”

“Any more? Oh—Er… I, yeah… Yeah, I have some, but…maybe here’s not the best place to do it, I’m afraid. I can’t have the whole wing of the house reeking of weed.”

“Want to go on a walk?” Hal asked, more of a statement than a question. He had that smirk again—that not quite Leslie sneer that said he expected to get his way.

Monday night was spent walking around the woods, smoking reefer and laughing at any old thing that could hold their attention for a moment or two. Hal had brought a satchel he filled with bottles of beer from the cooler beneath the bar. They had neglected to grab a bottle opener before they departed, but Rupert had thought to change into reasonable shoes this time after ruining his nice dress ones on their previous excursion. They used trees and rocks to crack open their bottles, pausing now and then to drink and light up—or just to enjoy the moonlight when it broke through the heavy clouds.

It was at one such moment, seated far too close to Hal on a boulder covered in wet moss that soaked the back of his trousers, Rupert stuttered out, “Would it really not bother you that much if a person Lily’s age were to take interest in you?”

“What? You mean like you?” Hal asked, passing Rupert their cigarette. 

“Me?” Rupert laughed. _“Me?_ Oh, well—well, sure. Why not me? All for the sake of fun—hypothetically, of course. What about me?” Rupert ended the sentence by taking too long a drag and coughing up a lung while Hal silently took the joint back and puffed on it.

“I mean… You are though, right?”

“What?” Rupert asked, still coughing and with tears pouring down his face. 

“You _are_ interested though, aren’t you? Or am I reading this all wrong?” Hal asked gesturing to his satchel and their empty bottles on the ground and the noticeable lack of space between them.

“As friends!” Rupert shouted, like a reflex. It was what he planned to tell anyone who confronted him with the truth. He took the joint back and inhaled a little more carefully this time. 

“I don’t think Lily would be that jealous if she thought you just wanted to be friends,” Hal said, his face turning to shadows as the moonlight slipped behind the haze of clouds. 

They were quiet a long time, Rupert still passing and taking the cigarette until it was spent and their next beers emptied.

“Would it bother you?” Rupert asked, staring at the bottles by his feet.

“Why would it bother me? You seem really cool.”

There was that word again… Cool. The word which reminded him that all _kids_ thought adults with nice cars and free booze were admirable. Free weed, too, now that Rupert thought about it.

“I like you too,” Hal said. He seemed to shift the smallest bit closer on the rock. Rupert could feel his body heat through their layers of clothes as if he were seated next to a blazing fire.

Rupert couldn’t speak. He tried desperately, but no sounds came out until he was opening up the little tin he kept in the pocket of his vest and took out another cigarette with shaking hands.

“What are those?” Hal asked, noting the white pills nested toward the bottom corner of the tin along with a neatly folded piece of aluminum foil. Rupert snapped it shut in an instant, the cigarette dropped back inside of it, and put the tin away. 

“Nothing. I’m sorry—what did you say? A moment ago? You said—”

“I said I liked you too.” Hal’s voice didn’t waver, didn’t warble with drunkenness or break up with laughter from his high. It didn’t sound so much like an admission or confession—it sounded like an understanding. As if Rupert had said his favorite color was green and Hal had simply thought the same.

Rupert thought to say something intelligent, maybe even something deflective, but what he ended up saying—in the same elated tone he used whenever he recanted stories of his escapades to Lily—was, “Am I really that obvious?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Hal said, laughing and finally closing the distance between the two of them. His thigh flush against Rupert’s, their arms rubbing against each other whenever either of them moved a centimeter. Rupert felt as if his entire body had been set alight, his cheeks burning as equal parts joy and fear flooded his brain. “I mean, I kind of figured you were the first time you talked to me. People don’t just come up to me and give me drinks. I get that you were loaded but, I mean, come on. You couldn’t have been any more obvious.”

There was a hand on his thigh now, a bold gesture that had Rupert second-guessing everything he’d ever imagined about this boy. He felt like he couldn’t breathe under the weight of a small palm closed around his thigh. The next thing Rupert knew, they were both on their feet and walking again, new bottles of beer opened for both of them. Rupert made a point to speak of anything else besides the party or the supposed mutual feelings between the two of them. Hal made it very difficult, very difficult indeed, as he countered Rupert’s efforts by intentionally bumping into him over and over again.

Shoulders knocking here, feet stumbling there, a hand brushing his leg—touching his back. Rupert found it becoming increasingly hard to breathe without panting. His mouth kept filling with saliva and he was paranoid that Hal could hear him gulping it down. At some point, their bottles were empty again and they’d smoked the last of the joints Rupert had brought with him. Hal, at that point, declared himself starving and Rupert agreed. 

Come sunrise, Rupert was ashamed to admit that he had no memory of how they’d gotten to a cheap American diner or why they were laying together on the hood of his car with Styrofoam boxes open between them of food covered in flies. When Rupert came around to himself, he realized they were holding hands and Hal was passed out like the hood of a car was the very best place for a nap. He looked peaceful, but as much as he wanted to, Rupert knew he couldn’t leave him like that. It was a miracle the cops hadn’t been called.

Or maybe they had and Rupert had sent them off with cash. He woke Hal who had just enough strength to climb in the backseat to pass back out, then checked his appearance in the passenger side mirror before throwing away the fly-infested boxes in the outdoor trashcan and going back into the diner. The hostess who greeted him did so with a knowing look of resentment and Rupert felt the impulse to apologize spring up in his throat. He choked it down until his waitress came and slammed a mug down in front of him and started filling it with coffee.

“What this time?”

“Er… Coffee’s fine. Water, too, if you could please. I… I’m terribly sorry.”

“Yeah? What are you sorry for? Puking all over my bathroom or stiffing me on the tip?”

“Certainly would like to make up for both, if I could. I’m terribly sorry. So, so terribly sorry.” Rupert fumbled for his wallet and pulled out a couple of twenties which he tried handing to the waitress. 

She fixed him with a bitter glare and snapped out a quick, “Your little friend blacked out?”

“Unfortunately so,” Rupert said, adding another twenty to his hand. The waitress snatched the bills and had them tucked into her pocket in record time. 

“Lucky we didn’t call the cops on ya. I was hoping you’d skip on the bill so we could.”

“So sorry,” Rupert said. “I don’t have an excuse—”

“Hell, everybody knows that. You came in here pissed drunk and stoned. I’ll give you a minute with the menu.” She walked away with his cash, still scowling.

He drank two cups of the burnt coffee and three glasses of water before ordering a small bit of food to go for Hal whenever he woke up. The waitress seemed in better spirits when he paid by card and left a tip that she really shouldn’t need, but it earned him a to-go cup of ice water that he also intended for Hal. Rupert washed up in the dirty men’s room that really showed no signs of having been cleaned of vomit recently, then returned to the car where Hal was snoring even after he slammed the door shut.

Rupert couldn’t bring himself to go back to the lodge with an unconscious minor who reeked of booze, so he found himself driving down different roads and side streets until he found himself following a freshly-paved state route that wound through the trees. He was suspiciously low on gas and it took close to an hour to find a gas station in a small town that had only one traffic light. Their gas pumps were listed as cash only in bright red letters, and Rupert handed over the last of his paper bills to get close to half a tank. By the time he got back in the car, Hal had crawled into the passenger seat and was sucking down the cup of water while simultaneously inquiring about a bathroom. He was gone for almost half an hour, leaving Rupert to deal with the suspicious glare of the clerk inside the station through the murky glass. 

When he came back, his face and hair were soaked as if he’d tried to take a bath in the restroom sink with hand soap. He probably had…

Hal also bought them both bottles of soda which he proceeded to drink as soon as his water cup was empty—no hangover in sight.

“What are we going to do today?” Hal asked, fastening his seat belt and then grabbing the box of food off the dashboard. “Is this for me?”

“I thought you might be hungry,” Rupert said, grabbing his sunglasses from the overhead compartment and slapping them over his eyes. It was getting brighter out and they hurt. The coffee had woken him up a bit, but did nothing to fix his hangover. 

Rupert started driving, going back the way he’d come and trying to find any landmark that might be familiar—or any signs that might point toward the highway. All he saw were trees and cliffs and shabby houses. While he drove, Hal ate and drank and chatted about anything that popped into his head until all of a sudden, he blurted out, “Can you teach me?”

“Teach you? To what?” Rupert asked, embarrassed to admit he hadn’t been listening closely. 

“Drive,” Hal said, laughing. All of a sudden, his hand was on Rupert’s thigh again.

Sober, it was absolutely terrifying. There was no cover of nightfall, no shadows or clouds of smoke to hide behind. Hal was touching him and Rupert was letting him. Rupert felt his heart start racing, pounding in his ears and throbbing alongside his headache. 

“C’mon! It’d be fun. I promise I won’t crash or do anything stupid.” Hal’s hand dipped forward, fingers squeezing and nestling down against Rupert’s inner thigh. 

Rupert’s hand dropped from the gear lever and gripped onto Hal’s hand, pinning it—ashamedly relishing the intimate contact—and then pried it off of him. He tried to let go and return his hand to the gear lever only to have Hal tangle their fingers. Rupert looked at him briefly, trying to gauge the boy’s reaction to assess how he should respond—knowing how he wanted to and knowing he _couldn’t._ Knowing _why_ he couldn’t.

Even so, Hal was smirking at him playfully and shaking their clasped hands as if for emphasis—as if to say, “See? We’re in this together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rupert ended up stuttering out, still feeling the phantom of Hal’s hand squeezing on his inner thigh. 

“Really?” Hal exclaimed, beaming and shifting around excitedly in his seat.

“Yes—really,” Rupert said, shaking their clasped hands before returning his hand to the gear lever. “Let me just find a parking lot or something. Less risk of killing the innocent, yeah?”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

It took a while to find a highway, and then a shopping mall off of it with a parking lot big enough for them to practice in. As soon as Rupert was out of the car, Hal was scrambling across the center console to take over the driver’s seat, his hands running up and down the smooth leather of the steering wheel.

Rupert wasn’t much of a teacher, struggling through his lack of sleep to find the words for even the most basic parts of the car—the “gearshift” as Hal kept calling it, the clutch, the pedals. They had a lengthy argument about windscreen versus windshield which Hal inadvertently won, and then began doing brief laps around the deserted parts of the parking lot. Every now and then the car would stall out and Rupert was brought back to his very irritable driving instructor who had terrorized him every time he had made the same mistakes when he’d been learning. Hal seemed to find humor in his mistakes, laughing at himself while Rupert gave him unnecessary reassurance that he was doing fine—that everything he did was perfect. 

Somewhere along the line, they started sharing the remaining bottle of soda, then Rupert had Hal park the Mustang between two other cars in the lot so they could go inside and use the restroom. Truthfully, Rupert hadn’t spent much time in American shopping malls, but Hal seemed absolutely at home and insisted Rupert split a massive, sugar-coated cinnamon roll with him in the sticky and crowded “food court.”

They spent much more time than Rupert had intended inside the shopping mall, Hal getting distracted and excited over various things which he ended up buying. A cheap sweater here, new pair of dark wash jeans there. Truthfully, Hal spent entirely too long in a knock-off designer store picking out boxer briefs Rupert was desperately trying not to think about. 

“Didn’t your dad say something about not making any extra withdrawals?” Rupert asked when Hal slid his card at the fifth store. He was brought back to the gossip Lily had mentioned, about Mrs. Lowery being seen sporting bruises when she left the Season early to return home. He hated to think of Hal doing anything to bring the same fate upon himself.

“So? He’s not going to do anything to me. He can get as disappointed as he wants. I don’t care.” He certainly didn’t sound like a battered youth.

Rupert wished he could have been that carefree in his youth, but spending a pound more than his father permitted was grounds to have his allowance completely revoked. That being said, it was often difficult to burn through all he was given in a single month, but he’d passed the limit a time or two when out with Valère. 

Valère and his sister knew how to spend money.

“Did you want to look at anything?” Hal asked after using the restroom a second time. He had immediately purchased another soda and was eyeing the pizza station across the food court. 

“I don’t believe they have anything here that’s quite my taste,” Rupert said, trying not to come off as snobbish as he really, truly was.

“Yeah, but… I mean, your clothes are kind of filthy. I got these so I can change,” Hal said, gesturing to his bags upon bags of clothes and shoes and who even knew what else.

Rupert looked down at himself, noting the smears of mud and dirt and spots of food on his dark jeans and sneakers that were truly unbecoming. If they wanted to go anywhere nice later—anywhere besides shopping—it was probably in his best interest to try to find something fresh to change into. A touch of cologne couldn’t hurt either, even though what he was desperately in need of was a shower.

Rupert ended up in a dark blue button down with small white cranes speckling it like polka dots and a pair of acid-wash skinny jeans Hal had picked out. They didn’t fit properly, and Rupert couldn’t find a belt in any of the stores that looked how he wanted and fit inside the loops without being cramped or having too much space around it. Rupert knew before they even left the mall—dressed head to toe in new clothes and spritzed with eighty-dollar cologne—that he wouldn’t be wearing these pants anywhere ever again. (The shoes he would keep though. They were a nice and heavy boots made of black suede that somehow made his legs feel the slightest bit longer.)

“Where to?” Hal asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat before Rupert could even protest.

“You think you’re driving, do you?” Rupert asked, laughing as he put their mound of bags in the trunk. 

“Why not?” 

“You don’t have a permit. I can’t take you out on the roads over here. Move over, would you?”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fine. I won’t hit anyone.”

“Not here. We’ll find some back roads later. Promise. Now move over.”

Hal rolled his eyes, but did as Rupert asked—taking an exceptionally long time to climb over the center console and shuffle down in his seat. 

“Where to now?” Hal asked.

“Where do you want to go?” Rupert asked, thinking that they really ought to get back to the lodge. He took his cell phone out of his pants pocket and checking for any messages of importance. His mother had sent him a photo of a couch she’d ordered and he replied with a photo of his new pants—telling her she had made the better choice. A few moments later, she texted back in agreement and asked why he’d wasted the money on something so unflattering. Rupert told her they’d been picked out by Erin Klasky which earned him praise from his mother who was “excited to inform his father that they were getting along.” He hoped the lie wouldn’t come back to bite him, but doubted his father would mention the pants if he mentioned the information to the Klaskys at all. 

“We could go to a movie.”

“We could,” Rupert said, typing a reply to Lily’s thirty questions about where he was and what he’d done. She wasn’t pleased with just a photo of pants. 

“Maybe there’s a concert or something tonight. Do you want to go to downtown? I’ve never been to downtown Seattle.”

“Oh, there’s so much to do!” Rupert said, his phone forgotten in an instant. “We could go there. I know a great sushi place we could go to for dinner. Do you like sushi?” 

As it turned out, he’d never had it before. They had sushi after a day of walking around Pike Place and visiting countless shops where Hal acquired more and more bags of clothes and accessories, artworks and odd bits of food and produce. Rupert seriously worried about some of it spoiling in the trunk of his car, but after three cocktails at the sushi restaurant, he hardly had a thought in his head at all. He found a highend liquor store a few blocks down from the restaurant and purchased a couple bottles of wine, a corkscrew, and some honey whiskey before joining Hal who had waited just down the street. They tapped the remnants of soda out of one of the bottles in the car and filled it with wine, then Hal did the same with his plastic soda cup from the mall. 

Sunset made the dark purple liquid in the clear soda bottle look a little less suspicious, but any time someone on the street passed him a weird glance, Rupert would look to Hal and burst out with laughter. 

Rupert talked about his childhood as they strolled the waterfront, glossed over the bits about his chaotic relationship with Valère, and settled into recanting stories of his and Lily’s escapades. Hal’s attention never wavered, even as they returned to the car to fill up with the second bottle of wine and add more coins to the meter.

Hal’s walking became a bit more sporadic, his limbs becoming the smallest bit unsteady as they did laps around the populated strip of restaurants and closed boutiques. Rupert tossed an arm around his shoulders, relishing the warmth that radiated through his body as he did. Every brush of Hal’s arm or leg or chest against him sent tremors down Rupert’s spine. A week ago, he never would’ve thought it possible to have Hal so close. He never would have even let his mind wander to the prospect of having an arm slung around him in public like shameless lovers. He should be ashamed, he reminded himself.

He should hate himself. He should feel sick. The police should pull up beside him and throw him in the back of their patrol car. 

But it was so hard to believe that when Hal was pressing endlessly closer like he wanted this—like he knew what Rupert was dreaming and craved it just as desperately. 

Before long, they were holding hands and stumbling against walls together as the crowds in the street thinned out. If anyone saw them, if anyone said anything, Rupert hadn’t heard. Sometimes, the occasional lyrics of songs blasting by from the cars as they passed seemed to speak to the tortured longing in his soul, other times they just vibrated the ground where he stood like a heartbeat far louder than his own.

It was in a moment like that, a moment where no other person in the world seemed to exist besides himself and Hal, that he took the plunge and felt himself plummet far, far down. He anticipated the pain of the crash, the iciness of water or fear or anxiety. Instead, all he could feel was Hal’s warmth against him and rough brick beneath his left palm while his very heart and soul soared high over the bay, high over all the buildings. He was drunk and blissful, and had his lips pressed down against Hal’s. 

His right hand ran through the choppy locks on the back of Hal’s head and came to rest cupping the back of his neck, pulling Hal into him. Somewhere on the ground between them, his forgotten soda bottle was spilling wine down the pavement in a river of crimson. Hal’s mouth was hungry and seeking, his kiss unpracticed but more than enough to fill Rupert’s brain with sparks of overwhelming joy and pleasure. 

He felt Hal’s hands gripping onto the front of his shirt, pulling him in, holding him there impossibly long. They didn’t breathe more than sighs, the scent of wine lingering between them. Hal tasted of wine and sugar. It was more than Rupert could have ever possibly dreamed, and yet so jarring and vibrant he wondered if it were all an illusion. How could he be so lucky? How could it all have played out with such perfection?

He was no one, from nowhere, defamed and cast out by his society—and yet he had in his arms the most perfect creature God had ever made.


	5. Chapter 5

In their decade of friendship, Rupert and Lily had only ever had one fight. Rupert had broken something, some antique piece of dishware or pottery, and had tried to pin the blame on Lily out of fear of his father finding out. Lily, of course, denied this when confronted by her father and screamed from one wing of the Barreau fortress to the other that Rupert was a no good liar and she hated him. For what it was worth, Rupert admitted he was in the wrong before Lily got into any serious trouble over it, but Lily held a grudge for a good week before speaking to him again. This had happened when they were eleven years old.

Rupert had vowed then not to do anything that would break his best friend’s trust. (Lily had made a vow to always call him out on his nonsense if he ever so much as thought about crossing her again.) It worked out quite well for them, until a rather overcast Tuesday night in the early summer of 2006.

Text message after text message after text message poured into his phone, largely unread. Voicemail upon voicemail until his inbox was full. Lily, repeatedly trying to make him come to his senses—trying to stop him from doing what she had largely encouraged in the days leading up to that night.

Rupert told her as much in a very curt message before turning his phone off completely.

It put a damper on his mood that Lily was absolutely furious with him for the first time in years, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. He _couldn’t._ Hal was here. Hal was _right here_ with him, and would be gone by Thursday afternoon. Rupert could hope and wish for all the time in the world, could delude himself into thinking a single day together wouldn’t ever end if they didn’t ever sleep, but the end of their time together was nearing regardless. 

It was three a.m. and pitch black, starting to rain where they had hidden the Mustang on a small gravel path leading into an unmarked section of trees. There were a few No Trespassing signs, but no lights or houses in sight and Rupert doubted in his deeply intoxicated state that anyone would come by and bother them. They’d be gone by sunrise—or so he’d hoped. 

Rupert barely realized he hadn’t slept more than a sparse few hours since Friday night. As soon as he started feeling woozy, they’d already found their place to park the car he knew better than to be driving. The rational side of his brain having already been pushed to the wayside, Rupert took the tin of pills out of his pants pocket and set to crushing several of them up inside the lid. Hal watched him with his chin resting on Rupert’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck every now and then as Rupert formed the powder into thin lines.

Hal’s hand barely left his thigh, even after the Mustang was stopped and the lights were all off—even when the bottle of honey whiskey was being passed back and forth between them. It’s familiar heat was gone in an instant when Rupert passed the tin and tightly rolled tenner inside it to Hal. 

“You’ve done this before,” Rupert said, his head tilted back against his seat as he watched Hal finish off the last two lines.

“So?” It sounded petulant and irritated, but as soon as Rupert had closed up the tin and put it back in his pocket, Hal was clambering into his lap in the driver’s seat and kissing him again. 

Whatever control he’d had—whatever resolve he’d hoped to keep—slipped away with the overly sweet taste of honey and the sharp zing of alcohol on his tongue. Hal’s tongue. 

The boy was pressed as close as he could get, his knees digging into Rupert’s hips while his hands found purchase on the back of Rupert’s neck, holding him still. Rupert’s brain was a haze of pleasure and euphoria, filled to the brim with the sensation of Hal’s wet tongue sliding against his own. He could feel the bruises forming on his lips from being pressed together too long, could feel his lungs screaming for more air than he was willing to pause to give. 

His mind was spinning, churning out one word over and over again—Hal. Hal, Hal, _Hal._

Rupert’s hands slid underneath Hal’s gray t-shirt, smoothing his palms over the divot of his hips—relishing the shiver he got in response. 

This was wrong—what he was doing was so, so wrong. 

But, God, he wanted it so bad. 

He’d pay, Rupert told himself as he let his lips trail down Hal’s neck. He’d pay the price. He didn’t care how much it cost him so long as he could have this moment, this night.

Hal stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the passenger seat, giving Rupert a moment’s reprieve to swallow down another mouthful of honey whiskey before beginning to unbutton his own shirt. Hal helped himself to another drink as well, then cast the bottle aside in order to wrap his arms around Rupert’s chest—hugging him while Rupert nipped at his throat. 

“What do you want to do?” Rupert asked, his voice thick with want.

“Anything,” Hal said, his voice jarringly void of any emotion.

Rupert tried to pull back a moment only to have Hal descend on him again, kissing him breathless and sending his brain back to its former, pleasant haze.

“Anything,” Hal gasped against him, sounding like he actually wanted it this time. It sent a shock through Rupert’s entire body and sent him scrambling to fit into the backseat. Hal was close behind him, laughing in between sloppy kisses as they re-situated themselves on the seat. 

Rupert managed to climb over top Hal this time, laying the boy down beneath him while planting open mouthed kisses down his throat, past his chest. It felt like every nerve ending in his body was crying out in need. Nothing he did felt like enough—nothing he kissed or touched or tasted slaked his desire. He had Hal’s fingers twisting through his hair, had the boy’s lips on his own and on his throat—he had the object of his darkest desires caged in his arms, panting against his chest. Somehow, he still wanted more. 

He’d do anything for another hit, another drag—another second with Hal’s perfect mouth wrapped around him, all clumsy and awkward and _perfect._

He would pay any price.

He’d do anything.

Anything, anything, _anything..._

( ) ( ) ( )

When Rupert woke up, Hal was still curled against his chest—mostly naked save for the pant leg clinging defiantly to his right left ankle. 

The sight made his stomach clench violently, but Rupert choked down what threatened to rise in his throat. There was no mistaking what he’d done—oh, God, what the hell had he done?

Flashes of the night before played through his mind—little glimpses of Hal’s perfect body and perfect face, bending to his will. The things he’d done… The things he’d let Hal do. 

Rupert felt the instinctive need to cover Hal, but couldn’t find anything within reach which only added to his budding panic attack. 

It was bright outside the windows, still covered in condensation from their breath. 

What time was it? 

What had he _done?_

Despite his best efforts to keep himself calm, to keep his breaths even, Rupert found himself gasping desperately for air—jostling awake Hal who groaned sleepily and sat up.

“Time is it?” He slurred, rubbing his face and blinking hard at the back window and its beads of moisture.

Rupert stared at him, eyes instinctively looking him up and down—widening at the sight of bruises on his sharp left hip. His stomach clenched again and he choked on his following breath. 

“What? ‘S the matter?” Hal squirmed around for a moment and then started shifting back into his clothes. 

Rupert tried to hold his breath, tried to clench his eyes shut and force the panic down before he threw up honey whiskey all over his car. 

There was no coming back from this. There was no way he could show up back at the lodge with Hal in this condition, bags upon bags of clothes and _things._ So much evidence they’d been out together for hours on end. Somehow, they’d all know what he’d done. He felt as if his actions had been branded onto his forehead. 

Child molester. Pedophile. Pervert. _Rapist._

His breathing sped up even more, leaving his aching head spinning. 

How had something that had felt so wonderful, so _right,_ turned out so awful? He’d never meant to cause any harm. He’d never meant to take it this far!

What the hell had he _done!?_

“Rupert? Hey—It’s okay. What’s the matter?”

Rupert tried harder to control his breathing, realizing that tears were now pricking the corners of his eyes as he fumbled for his clothes. He managed to get his pants on and up, though not at all zipped or buttoned, before he flung himself out of the backseat and out the passenger side door. Hal was still calling after him as he fell to his hands and knees in the grass. He purged all that was in his stomach as his head spun in ridiculously fast circles, pain throbbing in his skull and every muscle and joint. 

His mind felt assaulted by images from the night before—the things he’d seen, the things he’d _said,_ caught up in the haze of intoxication. 

He could just _imagine_ the things Lily was going to say to him—the things people would _call_ him once they found out what he’d done. How sick could he be? How low could he possibly sink?

The word “monster” crashed in his brain like a glass bottle to the back of his skull. 

Rupert pressed his forehead into the dirt, turned away from his sick as he tugged at his hair and gasped for breath. His mouth tasted sour and foul, his eyes burned and his head had never ached so badly in all his life. It felt as if he were about to die—and truthfully, he felt that was a better option than facing what he’d done.

“Hey! Can you hear me? Hey!”

A warm hand started running up and down his spine while another squeezed his shoulder, reassuring him and anchoring him in place. 

He had to look so pathetic now, sobbing on his knees in the dirt—covered in filth. What would Hal think of him now? Certainly not that he was “cool.” How could he be? How could he be anything more than filth after what he’d let himself do? How was he ever supposed to look Hal in the eyes again after he’d taken advantage of him like that?

His thoughts raced until he, at last, exhausted himself and had no more tears to shed—no voice left to cry. He felt himself being pulled up onto his knees and embraced, Hal hugging him from behind and nuzzling softly into the back of his neck.

The boy was shushing him, comforting him—giving him all sorts of kind words and caresses he didn’t deserve. It both shattered him and fit him back together. 

He was handed the bottle of honey whiskey which he struggled to open, the tin twist lid having sealed itself shut with the dried, sticky liquor. He rinsed his mouth with the whiskey and spat into the tall grass—not sure if the sweet flavor really helped what was going on with his tongue or not.

He handed the bottle back to Hal, only to see the boy take a swig of it and swallow before replacing the cap and putting it back in the car. 

“You must have a hell of a hangover,” Hal said, somehow managing to extract a chuckle from Rupert. 

“Something like that, yeah,” Rupert said, wiping his face on his hands—realizing only after Hal brushed the pad of his thumb over his cheek that he’d smeared himself with dirt from his palms. “Oh, I’m a mess. I’m a mess. I’m sorry, Hal. I shouldn’t have done that to you—”

“Done what? Get me laid?”

The bluntness of it, the lack of any real emotion in his voice had Rupert pulling back from him a bit. It reminded him of a moment the night before, but before he could dwell on it too long, Hal continued speaking.

“I thought we had a good time yesterday,” he said, suddenly sounding sad. “What’s happening? What did I do?”

Something in him cracked and Rupert found himself wrapping the boy in his arms and holding him tight. 

This was why, he scolded himself. This was why you didn’t fuck with _children._

Hal couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. Hal didn’t even know him well enough to realize these stupid fits to which Rupert fell victim were his own fault and no one else’s—and definitely not Hal’s. 

“No—No, Hal, I promise. No. It wasn’t you—it’s not you. You’re perfect. You were perfect—don’t think it’s you.”

“What, ‘it’s not you it’s me’? We’re really doing this right now?”

“No! I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” Rupert said, letting Hal go so he could wipe off his face and get himself under control before he made things even worse. “Sorry, I think I’m still drunk or—or something. Forgive me. I… I was afraid I’d hurt you.” He finally dared to meet Hal’s eyes and found them studying him closely, as if looking for signs of deception. “I worried you might have...had second thoughts or—or something. I don’t know. So sorry. I’m not quite myself yet.”

“Second thoughts? Why? What did I—”

“No, no—please. It’s not you. I’m just like this. I-I do this sometimes. Make nothing into something. I’m sorry I upset you. Are you feeling alright?” He searched Hal’s face and had the same unreadable expression staring back at him.

“You’re freaking me out,” Hal said, his voice wavering while his eyes never changed. 

Rupert continued apologizing and trying to make amends as he dressed himself and they stretched their limbs in between the trees—looking for a place off the roadway to relieve themselves. Rupert’s body was still trembling as he made his way back to the Mustang and he sank down onto the hood, turning on his phone while Hal fished his t-shirt out of the passenger seat. 

He had more missed calls from Lily and an alarming two missed calls from his father and head of staff respectively. The head of staff left a voicemail that Rupert was too anxious to listen to, but he had no choice but to open and read his father’s texts. 

_“Where are you? Four people have told me you’re missing. American police not willing to file missing persons report.”_

Rupert’s hands shook as he made note of the time. It was already after one in the afternoon, making it after nine at night back home. His father would still be awake, still be awaiting an answer. His mother was no doubt worried sick—he could practically hear her frantic voice pleading in his head.

He took a deep breath before pressing the dial button on his Blackberry, his heart hammering in his chest as he listened to it ring. There was a genuine moment he feared it would go to voicemail—and then he found himself wishing it had when he heard his father’s voice burst through the line.

“What the hell have you done this time?”

“Father, I… I-I’m sorry—”

“For God’s sake, _speak up._ Quit that stammering. Where the hell have you been? Your mother is a wreck!”

Rupert let out a shaky breath and swallowed down the lump in his throat, trying to steady himself as he tried again. 

“I went for a drive and I got lost—”

“I had your bank records pulled. Shopping malls, restaurants, liquor stores—an ATM withdrawal for over a thousand dollars. What are you playing at?”

“I told Mother I’d gone out with—”

“Erin Klasky hasn’t seen you since Sunday. Who are you with?”

Rupert stammered a moment, a habit he resented in himself as it immediately incited his father’s rage. 

“Do not lie to me again. You might think because I am over here and you’re out there by yourself that I can’t see everything you do, but you’re mistaken. I have had eyes on you this entire time. I told you what was expected and you have _ceaselessly_ disappointed me. I know about you spending all your time with Lily Rackham. I know about you leaving parties early and taking absolutely no clients. Now, tell me what the hell you’ve been doing the past _three_ days.”

“I’m… I’m with Mr. Lowery. I’m sorry, Father. I’ve been discussing—”

“Horse shit.”

“Honest! I’ve been with Lowery. I’ve been with him and his...his family,” Rupert said, noting the way Hal was now watching him with one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. “I stayed at their hotel last night. I had too much to drink.”

“You’re lying. I know when you’re lying.”

“I can have him call you if you’d like,” Rupert said, cringing at his own offer. Why was it whenever he started digging his grave, he could never allow himself to just set the shovel aside? Why did he always have to dig it deeper? 

“You’re with some man, aren’t you? It’s just like the last time. Where do you get off tricking your poor mother into thinking you’re out with a girl? Just when she thought she finally got through to you. You are her biggest disappointment.”

Slowly, the sound of his father’s enraged voice filtered out of Rupert’s head as his eyes went out of focus and he stared off at the trees. White butterflies moved between the flowering weeds and grass that danced on the gentle gusts of wind. 

His head was screaming in pain.

He felt sick with fear and dread, and nothing was going to make it stop. Nothing short of driving his Mustang off a cliff, anyway. 

Rupert didn’t even realize his father had hung up on him until Hal was tapping him on the shoulder.

“We should go,” he said. 

“Your parents looking for you, too?” Rupert asked, not really thinking the question over before it escaped his lips.

“No. It’s only Wednesday… But you look really sick. I think we should go to a hotel or something.”

“I’m pretty sure my father’s frozen my bank account.”

“Mine hasn’t,” Hal said, shrugging. “C’mon. We’ve gotta get out of here before someone comes and sees us or something.”

The boy’s hand on his shoulder still had some sort of power over him, and Rupert found himself sighing gently and getting back into the car. He put his shirt on and made sure it was tucked in and buttoned properly before putting on his sunglasses and starting to drive. (Hal had asked repeatedly if he could drive “just for practice” and it was surprisingly a struggle for Rupert to tell him no.)

They stopped at the first motel they found, some seedy joint along the highway that didn’t even ask for Rupert’s ID before handing them the keys to single-bed room. Rupert checked the mattress for bugs while Hal showered. There weren’t any which truly came as a surprise to him after all the horror stories he’d been told about vacations in the Americas ruined by pests. The place was disgusting at any rate, stained carpet and furniture, dingy wallpaper… Cheap, imitation artwork on every single wall. Rupert had a lot of time to drink it all in before the shower finally clipped off in the bathroom, ending the cloud of steam that poured out from under the door.

Hal came out of the bathroom without a towel or thread of clothing on him, seeming to relish the blush Rupert felt overcome his face as he did.

Before Rupert could even stand from the bed to shower off himself, Hal climbed over his lap and pressed a kiss onto his mouth. It was hard to muster the strength to kiss back, but he managed—and then unwound himself from Hal’s arms with the promise he’d be more lively after a quick rinse.

A “quick rinse” turned into Rupert sitting huddled on the floor of the stained, plastic tub shivering under the hot stream of water. He’d probably cried again, but was too numb to notice it. His mind was spinning—from the stress, maybe, and possibly still from the drugs—with no end in sight.

His father had warned him that another “transgression” would leave him excommunicated. Disowned and homeless. His promise for university would be dashed, leaving him with no ability to get a decent job. He imagined he probably could go work in a horrid shopping center like the one Hal had taken him to, but then what? Based on the vicious text messages Lily had been sending him, it was unlikely she’d take him in or even plead the case to her family. He couldn’t get a job without a permanent address...

There was always Valère, Rupert through desperately. His family, the Barreau family, had always shown a liking for him and had stated time and again that he was more than welcome to stay with them any time. They’d typically meant as opposed to using a hotel while on vacation, but he was doubtful they’d refuse him lodgings for a month or two.

But Rupert didn’t want to crawl back to them…

Valère had, at one point, offered him the world only to grind it under his heel and walk away as if their time together had meant nothing. Four years reduced to “It was a mistake. I’m sorry,” as soon as they got caught. Valère had gotten himself a girlfriend and Rupert had gotten high...and never quite stopped getting high.

At some point, the water turned cold and Rupert was still curled up and shivering with his aching head pressed against the plastic wall of the shower. He didn’t have the strength to stand or even crawl to shut the water off. He sank lower and lower, eyes closed against the pain and the chill until, all of a sudden, the shower stopped and he felt a heavy towel fall on top of him. 

“Come on. You need some sleep.”

Hal was kneeling down beside the tub—still naked as far as Rupert could see. 

Rupert dried himself off and went with Hal back to the bed, leaving the towel on the floor beside it before shuffling beneath the blankets. Hal sighed deeply and snuggled close, his body folding against Rupert’s effortlessly—their legs tangling together under the yellow comforter. Rupert found himself running his palm up and down the smooth expanse of Hal’s back. The boy sighed and snuggled impossibly closer, his lips pressing a few soft kisses to Rupert’s collarbone. 

“Was your dad really mad or something?” Hal asked.

“Yes, but you don’t need to worry about that.”

“Really? Because it really seemed to upset you a lot. Kind of seems like something I should worry about,” Hal said, kissing Rupert’s neck once he was done.

“It’s really nothing.”

“What, you think I’m too young to handle it or something? You said he shut off your credit card, right? So… That probably means he’s mad you spent all that money on me. But you didn’t tell him you were out with me… You said you were out with Dad.”

Rupert sighed and let his eyes flutter back open. All he really wanted was to sleep, but it was clear Hal had no intention of letting that happen. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d had trouble sleeping since New York. 

“My father’s probably...going to turn me out once I return home.”

“What? Like kick you out of the house or something?”

“Yes, exactly,” Rupert said, the familiar dread inflaming his chest at the mere thought. 

“What for?”

“Me… _This,”_ he added, squeezing Hal a little tighter for a moment. 

“But you didn’t _tell_ him about us.”

“He’ll find out if he hasn’t already, but I think he knows.”

“Why? Did your friend tell him about us?—Did you _tell_ her!?”

“I didn’t tell anybody,” Rupert said, kissing Hal’s forehead and letting his eyes close again. “My father knows me. He knows my habits… Not that you’re part of a habit. I can’t...my mind is scattered. I’m sorry. He pulled my bank records. He knows about the mall and dinner and the liquor store. He knows I’m with someone. Doesn’t know it’s you, but he knows it’s another...guy.” He’d almost said man, then almost corrected himself to say boy. Then realized neither sat right on his tongue and gave up. “He warned me if it happened again, he would cut me off. I let it happen again...”

Hal was quiet, but he scooted impossibly closer as if to prove a point. 

“So… If this is an ‘again,’ what was the first time?” Hal asked, effectively tearing the tendrils of sleep out of Rupert’s metaphorically grasping fingers.

“It was nothing… Was a while ago. Nothing important,” Rupert said, his lies as evident to Hal as everyone else. 

“Oh.” Hal shifted around beneath the blankets and planted a kiss on Rupert’s Adam’s apple. “So you got caught with somebody?”

“It… It’s complicated,” Rupert sighed, actively trying not to remember the little details flickering in the back of his head, light bulb flashes of memories together speckled with the gut-wrenching feeling of being caught, being trapped—that sickening, overwhelming feeling of being known.

“Was he younger than me?”

“What? No—No, it wasn’t like that. Really, it’s nothing that interesting. Just...just a whole lot of petty drama.”

“If it’s so petty, why don’t you want to talk about it?” Hal pushed, kissing Rupert’s neck again. 

Rupert wanted to roll away from him, partially out of fear and partially out of disgust. Why was he so curious? Why did he act like he _needed_ to know? It was none of his business… But Rupert guessed it was his business now. Rupert had slept with him, had drawn him into his web—into his bed—and would now have to pay the price for bringing him in so close. 

He could practically hear Lily’s rebuking in the back of his head: “If you _actually_ want to be with him, he’s going to have to know who you are. Otherwise, he was just a quick fuck. Which is what you _wanted._ You fucking nonce.”__

_ _“Do you think I’m going to tell somebody or something? I wouldn’t tell anyone your secrets…”_ _

_ _“I know that, Hal,” Rupert said, pressing a kiss onto the boy’s forehead only to have the boy shove against his chest. “Hal… Please, I’m exhausted. Can’t we talk about this some other time?” _ _

_ _“Fine,” Hal mumbled, sounding irritated as he settled down with a foot of space between them on the mattress. It wasn’t the same as having his back turned to him, but Rupert felt it for the jab that it was. _ _

_ _Slowly, he reached out, wanting to touch Hal’s cheek or stroke his hair only to have the boy push his hand away. His beautiful eyes were turned away toward the pillow beneath his head sadly, as if he really thought Rupert was trying to shut him out. _ _

_ _“It’s really not that big of a deal, love,” Rupert said, trying again, foolishly, to smooth his fingers over Hal’s cheek. The boy groaned and rolled away, leaving Rupert with a sick sense of dread. Whatever this thing was between them, he had a feeling he’d ruined it. Hal was pulling away from him so soon after their nearly picture-perfect weekend and it left Rupert feeling anxious and pathetically close to tears. He was so exhausted, so drained and just _tired_ of being worried. The looming sense of danger which had so briefly been forgotten in the intoxicating newness of Hal’s attention now threatened him with renewed vigor. He feared being caught, being disowned, being cast out by his family and Hal alike. _ _

_ _He couldn’t take much more, and knowing he’d dug this grave for himself wasn’t helping._ _

_ _Rupert’s breaths had turned ragged as he reached out again, against his better judgment, and rubbed his hand up and down Hal’s back. The boy sighed loudly, but otherwise didn’t move. _ _

_ _“Please don’t be mad,” Rupert whispered, startled when he realized he’d spoken aloud. _ _

_ _Suddenly, Hal was laying on his back and staring at him, eyes more curious than anything._ _

_ _“I’m not mad,” he said, his voice so placid Rupert could hardly believe this was the same boy who had just pushed his hand away. _ _

_ _Involuntarily, Rupert let out a quiet sigh of anguish and closed his eyes—willing sleep to take him before this day could get any worse. The next thing he knew, Hal was hugging him around the shoulders and had shifted himself up on the pillows so Rupert’s head was buried in his chest. Hal nuzzled his hair, seeming to breathe in the smell of cheap hotel shampoo and relish it. Rupert hugged him back, snuggling into him and savoring every bit of flesh that pressed against his own. _ _

_ _He pressed despairing kisses to Hal’s chest where he could reach and rubbed his back, trying to channel as much affection into the touch as he could in hopes it would show Hal that he was enough—that he didn’t have to worry about the last time or any other time. Right now was supposed to be about them, just them—how he _wanted_ it to be, if Hal agreed. _ _

_ _Slowly, the panicked feeling began to sink away and Rupert felt his weary eyes fall closed. His consciousness bled away into sleep, lulled under by the soft and gentle thrum of Hal’s beating heart._ _


	6. Chapter 6

Rupert awoke to the sound of muffled voices, so gentle and soft they could’ve been bleeding in through the thin wall behind the headboard. He shifted around beneath the scratchy blankets, feeling for the warmth that he remembered being next to him what felt like sparse moments ago—but very well could have been hours. Finding nothing but a cool expanse of empty sheets, Rupert opened his eyes a crack to find the bedroom bathed in pale blue light. Every fixture in the room was tinted black with heavy shadows, including Hal who was sitting at the foot of the bed with his cell phone held to his ear.

“Well—”

The other voice said something indistinguishable.

“No!” Hal snapped, his voice a harsh and petulant whisper. 

Whoever was on the other line cut him off once more, sounding just as harsh but much louder in volume as it crackled through the speaker of Hal’s cell phone.

Rupert sat up woozily, checking the bedside clock to see that it was nearing nine in the evening. How long had he been asleep? His father was probably frothing at the mouth in rage, livid when he discovered that his call had not spurred Rupert to return immediately to the lodge as he’d expected.

“And I said no! You listen to _me,”_ Hal snapped, sounding every bit like a spoiled child trying to imitate the words he’d heard from the adult’s table at dinner. 

If Rupert had dared to speak to _his_ father that way, he’d have had his head taken off—of that he was absolutely certain. 

Trying to ignore the argument that was brewing, Rupert felt around the bedside table and then the mattress and pillows beside him, seeking his Blackberry before realizing with a start that the voice on the other line of Hal’s call did not speak with the typical American drawl. 

_“Be_ mindful _of who you are—”_ That voice belonged to none other than Rupert’s father. That was _his_ cell phone in Hal’s hand. Rupert’s heart seized in his chest and he felt his face go slack in horror. 

When had Hal even seen his passcode to get into his phone? Or how did Hal answer it after it began to ring without Rupert waking up?

“You be mindful!” Hal roared, still seeming to try to keep his voice down.

“Hal!” Rupert called, his voice giving a distinct tremor. The boy turned to look at him and then dared to raise a finger in the universal gesture of ‘hold on just a minute.’ “Give me my _phone!”_ Rupert insisted, growing more frantic by the second as he heard his father’s muffled, angry voice blast through the speaker before Hal cut him off once again.

“No! You’ve ruined _everything!_ You _ruined_ all my fun! I was having _fun!”_

There was a small scuffle as Rupert tore the phone out of Hal’s hand, the device ending up crashing onto the floor—sending the back cover and battery skidding in different directions. 

“What is the matter with you!? What were you _thinking?”_ Rupert asked, tumbling out of the bed after the scattered pieces of his Blackberry. His eyes were stinging with tears again and his hands trembled as he fitted his phone back together, heart pounding in suspense as he watched the screen slowly light back up—terrified it wouldn’t.

“Me? I was _helping_ you!”

“By pissing off my father? He’s going to _kill_ me, Hal! Do you understand?” Rupert looked up at him from where he knelt on the floor. Hal was still sitting at the edge of the bed, looking far too sure of himself, far too collected, to even possibly comprehend the amount of trouble he’d caused.

“Look, he’s mad because he thinks you’re with someone—”

“And now he knows it! How could you do this?”

“I helped you,” Hal snapped, his eyes darkening—piercing through Rupert’s chest even in the hazy evening glow. “He thinks you’re with some random, no-class commoner. _Now,_ he knows you’re with me.”

“A kid! You’re a child! You’re not helping! You’re making everything worse! Why would you do this?”

“I told your father I wanted to go slumming—that I wanted to get out of your stupid cabin and have _fun._ The Innyas did it in New York. Why can’t I?”

Rupert wanted to argue that Innyas had not and would not ever go “slumming,” as he put it, but Hal cut him off with another enraged slurry of words.

“He doesn’t think you’re sleeping with me, if that helps. Which _it does._ He just thinks you’re stupid and easy to jerk around.” Hal stared Rupert down, the hardness in his eyes implying an unspoken, _“Which you are.”_

It was there again, that strange sense Rupert had gotten first in the car and then again before falling asleep. Something didn’t add up. Something about Hal didn’t seem quite right—but who, Rupert asked himself, in their society, was exactly what they seemed? 

“Your dad already thinks I’m a spoiled little brat who always gets my way. I just let him keep thinking it, and let him think you’re too stupid to say no to me. I’ll have Irving take care of the rest. He’ll sign an agreement with you or something. Isn’t that what your dad wants? You making business deals or something stupid like that?” Hal stood up from the bed, seeming somehow much older than fourteen as he made his way into the bathroom and shut the door. 

Rupert stared after him a moment, then bit the bullet and pressed the dial button beside his father’s name. Adrenaline coursed through his veins with every ring of the phone until finally, his father answered.

“Williamson,” he said, suspicion heavy in his voice.

“Father, it’s me. I am so, so sorry. I was asleep; he took my cell phone. I—”

“You let that boy see the passcode on your phone?” 

Rupert grimaced. Hal had seen the code and Hal had placed the call. When would he have paid that much attention?

“No! No, I don’t think so—I… I don’t know. I am so sorry.”

He anticipated his father’s rage, a barrage of wrath and vicious words to cut him to the bone. Instead, his father was silent for a long time before asking, rather levelheadedly, “Is he there? The boy?”

In the bathroom, the shower kicked on. Odd, Rupert thought, for Hal had already taken a shower the night before. Maybe he was just too drunk to have remembered doing it.

“He’s in the shower,” Rupert said, swallowing hard. He wasn’t sure if that was the correct answer or not.

“I already heard what he had to tell me—now I want to hear it from you. I want the _truth,_ Rupert. If you lie to me again, we’re finished here. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Rupert answered, staring at the fading light between the breaks in the curtains. He was finished anyway, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter what Hal had said or how convinced he was that his lies were foolproof. Rupert’s father was not nearly as naïve as Hal imagined.

“What are you doing with that boy? Why are _you_ spending time with Lowery’s heir?”

“I thought… I thought it could be good for business,” Rupert answered, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “I really did. A lot of the people at these parties, they don’t talk to me. They won’t even shake hands with me. My reputation here, it’s…it’s ruined. I know that’s my fault. I know it is… I thought maybe if I could get in with Lowery, with the new money, that maybe I could use their connections. Try a different route.” He kept expecting his father to cut him off, to scream at him the way he had that morning, but his father was silent. Rupert would’ve thought he’d hung up in disgust if not for the soft breaths crackling in his ear every now and then. “Hal is… He’s very—how do I put it?” He laughed nervously, looking around for his discarded clothes—longing for a cigarette. His father did not chime in to help. “He knows what he wants. I thought it’d be easy to get in his good graces and then charm his father. Mr. Lowery’s got a mistress holed up somewhere out here. We can make arrangements for that, I thought… Hal doesn’t seem to care—”

“Did you even read the reports I gave you before you left?” His father asked, his voice just as collected and composed as before.

“I’m sorry?” Rupert asked. There had been dozens of files thrust at him. Profiles, records, reports of all sorts about guests he would meet—guests he _might_ meet. There were even manila envelopes in that stack containing printed emails and single-paragraph profiles of clients he might hear _mentioned._ He’d looked them over, but there was no way he could’ve read them all in close detail.

“The reports I gave you. I distinctly remember telling you to look into Lowery.”

The Lowery folder had been among the stacks of redwells and binders? Rupert vaguely remembered it.

“I already _have_ accounts set up with Lowery. Did you even speak to the man yourself?”

Rupert felt the heavy ball of dread sink impossibly deeper into his guts. 

“I don’t think…I’m cut out for this business,” Rupert said, beating his father to the punch. There was only one way this was going to end and it was better to throw himself down on the altar than to be dragged there by force. There was dignity in surrender, he told himself. Maybe his father could find use for him in some other capacity.

“At least we’re in agreement on _something.”_

Rupert closed his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat. He felt a horrid sense of both immense shame and immense relief. His father wasn’t forgiving him, but he wasn’t screaming at him to find his own transport back to London either.

“Where are you now?” His father asked.

“A hotel. I’m not even sure where.”

“The boy is with you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I will tell Lowery myself.”

“Was he concerned?” Rupert asked, wondering if Hal had mentioned any of this to his father.

“Not in the way he ought to be, in my opinion. Do what you want. Keep him occupied. I’ll be landing in Seattle tomorrow morning to close up affairs. Should be there…” He paused and Rupert could just see him rolling up his jacket sleeve to examine the face of his Vacheron Constantin. “Ten-thirty, their time.”

“Father, I—”

“Your mother isn’t joining, but I will fill her in. Are you still in contact with Valere Barreau?”

“I—No. Not much,” Rupert said, feeling his face grow hot at the sudden question. Was he still in contact with his ex-boyfriend, the reason his life went from mostly alright to mostly awful? “He didn’t come out for the Season this year.”

“I would advise you that it may be in your best interest to reach out to him. The sooner the better.” His words were like ice sinking into Rupert’s chest. “Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Rupert answered.

“I will have the bank reinstate your cards. Can’t have you stranded God knows where with someone else’s son.” And then, without missing a beat, he added, “Have you given any more thought to university?”

He had three acceptance letters pending reply, and more on the way he was certain. He’d taken a year’s break after finishing secondary school for independent study that was meant to be spent learning his father’s industry—an assignment it was all too clear he had failed.

“Pick one, Rupert,” his father said sternly when Rupert hesitated to answer. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Father?” 

“We’ll discuss matters more in detail when you are back in London. I don’t wish to conduct our business at the lodge in front of our guests. You will finish out the Season and we will return home. Your mother is owed that much. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

Excommunicated. No doubt about it now.

“In the meantime, change your passcode. I don’t want that boy calling me again. I don’t want him calling anyone else we do business with either. Frankly, Rupert, I don’t care what you do, but leave my associates and myself out of it. If you want to disappear for a month with that child and spend the rest of your summer being yanked around on a chain, that’s your business. All I ask, as an _affiliate,_ is that you think of the consequences.”

“I really haven’t—”

“You should have read the reports I gave you. You have no one to blame for this but yourself.”

“Father, I—”

“Going forward, I would like for you to distance yourself from our brand. At least until your actions and skillset are something that can be deemed of value to our _business._ Are we in agreement?”

“Yes,” Rupert answered, eyes dropping to trace the outlines of the shadow-blackened armchair by the window. “Can I speak to Mother?”

“For the time being, I would advise against it. Later, perhaps.”

“Of course.”

His father’s voice held no reservation, no sorrow. He spoke the way he did when a customer was closing out an account, or when he himself had decided a business venture was no longer worth pursuing. In a way, Rupert guessed that was exactly what they had become—what they had always been: Business partners by blood. But that relationship, that connection, like any other, was neither promised nor guaranteed. He could still hear his father’s voice long after he’d hung up the phone, reciting lines Rupert had heard time and time again when he sat in on meetings.

_“We’d love to continue to have your business. Your reputation proceeds you, I can guarantee you that. You are a great man in your industry, but let us make sure this relationship still _makes sense_ for all of us. Do you understand?”_

Rupert was in that stage of remediation, just like any other scandalized broker or CEO—he was just a stranger across the table who happened to share a surname with the owner of the firm. How amazing of a coincidence was that?

Very shortly after the call ended, almost too quickly to be a coincidence, the shower turned off and Hal was coming back into the room—hair dry, skin dry, but with a towel wrapped around his hips regardless.

He turned on the bedside lamp before flopping down next to Rupert on the bed, casting the room in an unpleasant yellow glow.

“You know, I forgot we bought groceries yesterday,” Hal said. 

“Yes, we should probably get those out of the trunk,” Rupert replied, somehow relieved Hal wasn’t asking questions or pushing the issue.

“Do we have any more alcohol? This room doesn’t have a minibar.”

“I do not. No. I think we had more than our fair share last night, wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe,” Hal answered, sighing as he got up and dressed himself in his scattered clothes. “Do you think we can go downtown again?”

Rupert started to say no, but what was the alternative? Go back to the lodge? His father had given him liberty to do as he pleased; shouldn’t he make the most of it? Truly though, all Rupert really wanted was to crawl back under the disgusting covers, hide his face, and sleep until the end of the world. 

Hal, it seemed, was determined not to let that happen.

“Come on, please? I’ll pay for _everything.”_

“I want to get food—real food,” Rupert said. 

“Sure,” Hal said, perking up at that. “Want my dad to get us reservations somewhere? I’m sure he can.”

“Your dad?” Rupert asked, passing Hal a sidelong glance as he pulled himself up from the bed in order to get dressed in yesterday’s filthy clothes. 

“Yeah, he called me this morning to see if I wanted to go to lunch. I told him no.”

“Did he ask where you were?”

“He asked if I was at the lodge. I told him I was with you. He seemed to approve,” Hal said as he shrugged casually. “I bet he can get us reservations.”

“It’s after nine o’clock,” Rupert said, buttoning his shirt.

“Somewhere in this city serves late. They do back home. Just tell me what you want and Dad’ll look into it.”

“I don’t know,” Rupert said, sighing heavily. “Anything you want—just something nice. I really can’t handle more of that diner food.”

“What diner food?” Hal asked, looking genuinely puzzled as he took out his cell phone and pressed a few buttons before holding it to his ear. “Hey—Yeah, I know. _Yes,_ I _know.”_ Already, Hal sounded livid as he spoke to Irving Lowery the same way he’d spoken to Rupert’s father. Did he really think that was an acceptable tone to take with the adults? Maybe, Rupert thought, it was some new money, generational custom he wasn’t aware of. He didn’t spend much time in American society. “We want to go and get dinner… Me and my friend,” he said. Faintly, Rupert could hear Mr. Lowery asking who exactly that was. “My _friend._ We’re hungry. No, he wants someplace nice. _I don’t know!_ Nice!”

Rupert’s chest seized when he heard the muffled sound of the man asking to speak to Rupert to “get a better understanding.”

“What do you need to talk to him for? I just told you, something _nice._ No… No, I don’t know where we are. Some hotel—Because I _wanted_ to!”

“Hal, you’re being very rude,” Rupert mumbled. He’d heard the rumors, sure, but he hadn’t ever experienced Hal’s temper tantrums first hand. He’d spent most of his time with Hal convincing himself it was all untrue, and it was becoming increasingly unsettling that there was in fact quite a lot of weight to the testimonies after all.

Hal looked at him, no emotion on his face or in his eyes. Mr. Lowery was calmly asking more questions, trying to explain why he needed to know where they were to set up a reservation this late in the evening. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Dad,” Hal said, his voice now too calm compared to how harsh he’d just been. “I’m just irritated.” This launched them into a discussion about _why_ Hal was irritated—because Mr. Williamson had called (a lie, Hal had called him) and started throwing out accusations about Rupert (also a lie) that got his friend to not want to hang out with him anymore (a third lie). And he had _just_ started having fun.

It was at that moment, Rupert distinctly heard Mr. Lowery state, “Mr. Williamson who handles your trust?”

“Yes! That guy. Do we _really_ have no one else we can go through? If he’s going to act like this, I don’t want him anywhere near _my_ trust.”

Mr. Lowery replied with something along the lines of, “We’ll look into it later,” and then confirmed a reservation for them at some place called the Monarch Gastropub. 

They made a few trips back and forth from the hotel to the car getting ready. Hal took the spoiled produce which had filled the trunk of Rupert’s Mustang with the most vile of odors to a dumpster beside the hotel, Rupert changed into whatever decent clothes he could find in his shopping bags—none of which were as formal as he’d hoped—and Hal went inside to change into clean clothes as well and pay for the room. 

It took a good thirty minutes to get back into the city from their shoddy hotel, and an additional twenty for Rupert to find the Monarch. The place seemed more like an upscale club than a restaurant, but the valet took his key no question and after a very brief exchange with the man checking IDs at the door (“Irving Lowery is my father—_let me in!”_), they were seated at a lamp-lit table in the corner of the room. The carved wooden booths were tall and lined with black velvet, giving a sophisticated sense of privacy to their otherwise open table. There was a very distinct sensation of bass pumping through the floorboards, but the music playing over the speakers was gentle string instruments—at least in their section of the gastropub. 

Hal seemed bored with the menu, and irritated that their waitress merely shook her head at him when he tried to order alcohol. Rupert ordered the lamb dinner and accepted the wine pairing she offered, fully intending to let Hal drink it so long as he could be discreet. 

“So our fathers are in business together,” Rupert said as he waited for their entrees to arrive. “I hadn’t known.”

“I guess he handles my trust fund. Make sense,” Hal said, happily drinking Rupert’s wine. He was back to his boyish charm, smiling when appropriate, keeping his voice even and mellow. He held Rupert’s eye contact a lot longer than necessary until it had Rupert flushing as darkly as had long before—back at the party at his lodge.

“Does it?”

“Isn’t your guys’ whole thing, like, more discreet than a Swiss bank account? Dad doesn’t like people snooping around in his business. Seems obvious he’d want to work with you people.”

“Ah. Yes, I suppose so.”

“I can make him change it if I want to,” Hal said, looking at Rupert in the eyes again. “If _you_ want me to.”

“Why would I want you to stop using my father’s business?”

Hal shrugged and then, as if sensing their waitress returning, placed the wineglass back on Rupert’s side of the table. 

“Well… I don’t know,” Hal said, smiling at him. “Conflict of interest, maybe?”

“That’s not much of an issue when it comes to banking, I don’t believe,” Rupert said, grabbing up what was left of the wine as their waitress laid out their plates before them. He agreed to a second glass and Hal requested another Coke with cherry grenadine even though he hadn’t touched the first one.

“Maybe I just don’t want to give any of my money to your dad,” Hal said, picking up his knife and letting it glint purposefully off the lamplight. “I don’t like him very much.”

“That’s my father you’re talking about,” Rupert cautioned, keeping his eyes on his plate. Almond crusted salmon fillet—real food. Finally.

“He doesn’t like you either,” Hal said, waiting until Rupert looked at him to continue. “Or appreciate you.”

“Hal, please listen,” Rupert said, pausing again as their server poured him a fresh glass of wine and continuing once she was gone. “I have had so much fun with you these past few days—I really like you. I do! But, my father isn’t in the wrong here. I disobeyed him. I knew what he expected of me and I didn’t perform—”

“How are you supposed to go make a bunch of business deals for him? He set you up to fail,” Hal said.

“I’ve been training at this for years, I’m just not good at it. Running off like I did, well, that just proves it. You don’t need to be angry with my father for holding me accountable. I disrespected him—”

“So he shuts off your credit card and leaves you stranded in the middle of nowhere?” Hal asked.

“He turned it back on, but that doesn’t—”

“Sounds like excellent parenting to me,” Hal said, snatching Rupert’s wine before he could even take a sip and swallowing a good mouthful. 

“Listen, that’s just how things work. I owe my father respect. It’s my job to honor him and make sure our reputation stays intact. I disrespected him. This is what happens. It’s…business.”

“My dad and I are in business together and he wouldn’t dream of talking to me like your dad does,” Hal said. He shrugged and set the glass down on his side of the table before sinking his knife into the filet mignon on his plate. 

“If I spoke to my father the way you did yours, I’d be dead.”

“Really?” Hal asked, bringing a bright red bit of meat to his lips and holding it there.

“Yes,” Rupert said, making eye contact only briefly before returning his attention to his plate. There was a gleam in Hal’s eyes that he wasn’t very comfortable with—a strange, almost threatening glow in them similar to the flashes of light coming off his sharp knife.

“Huh…” Hal said, as if unconvinced. 

“Really,” Rupert insisted.

“You should try it sometime. Irving says that’s the only way to get people to respect you.”

Rupert let that one slide in order to enjoy his dinner.

“So, guess what my dad told me this morning,” Hal said, onto his third glass of wine, his steak and side dishes gone while Rupert was still picking at his rice pilaf. 

“What’s that?” Rupert asked, wondering when Hal had gotten time to call anyone. Was it before he’d used Rupert’s phone to start a war with his father?

“My home instructor isn’t returning for my lessons in the fall. He wondered if I wanted to enroll instead.”

“I thought you were already enrolled somewhere,” Rupert said, trying to think back to the conversations they’d had, but his memory made incoherent through the fog of booze and stimulants.

“No. Well, not really. I’m apparently behind—but I’m also ahead, if that makes sense.”

It didn’t, but Rupert nodded anyway. His attention had shifted from Hal to his Blackberry which was buzzing idly in his pocket.

“I’m thinking I might go to boarding school, just to get away from Dad and _Mom.”_ The inflection on the word was enough to call back Rupert’s focus.

“Do you and your mother not get along?” He asked.

“Sure,” Hal said, licking red wine off his lips. “I mean, when you get past the fact that she’s a drunk.”

To that, Rupert had nothing he could say, so he simply nodded and asked for a sip of his wine. Hal handed him the glass, smiling at him as their fingers brushed against each other as Rupert took the delicate stem.

“Dad says there’s an arcade nearby. Do you wanna go?”

“You’re really bored back at the lodge, huh?” Rupert asked, setting aside his cutlery and plate. Hal copied him and craned his neck as if looking to signal their waitress to bring the check so they could get on with the rest of their night.

“Tch, what better way to spend time than drinking other people’s leftovers? As soon as we go back, you’re just going to go hang out with that chick and I’m going to be bored out of my mind.”

“There’s an entire game room and entertainment center—besides, it’s not like I’m going to ignore you. How could I?” Rupert asked, trying to smile for him even though his heart wasn’t in it. He was stressed and tired again, and he wanted to check his phone to see who was calling him so incessantly. 

The arcade Hal had mentioned, as it turned out, was also a bar. Rupert was able to get in the front door by showing his ID, making it through an awkward conversation with the bouncer about his accent and its authenticity. Hal disappeared around the corner and met Rupert by the skee-ball machine. 

“There’s a patio for smoking,” he said, flashing a cigarette that ended up behind Rupert’s ear. “They check IDs again at the bar. Can you get me a drink? I’ll give you my card,” Hal said, starting to open his wallet.

“Mine’s working again. What do you want? Wine? Beer?”

“Whiskey,” Hal said, smirking. His face seemed to glow in the dim light of the arcade. The roaring noise of echoing voices and ringing machines made Rupert feel somewhat anxious and claustrophobic, but Hal seemed so at ease.

“Can you be a little more specific, love?” Rupert asked with a laugh.

“Honey whiskey. That’s our thing, right?” He asked before gesturing toward Pac Man. “I’ll be over there.”

Rupert waited until Hal’s back was turned to make his way toward the bar—and then ducked out to the patio to check his phone. Lily had been calling him at dinner, and his mother as well. She, Rupert didn’t think, he could handle talking to without losing his edge for the rest of the night. Lily, on the other hand, was someone he could not put off much longer without catastrophic consequences. 

“You idiot, _stupid_ nonce!” Was how Lily greeted him when he called.

“Yes. Agreed,” Rupert said to her, lighting a cigarette he’d had to purchase off someone on the patio for a dollar. He was surprised he even had a bill in his wallet—aside from the tenner in the Altoids tin in his pocket. He doubted British currency would’ve worked, even in a pinch.

“What the hell have you been doing?—and don’t you dare make a joke. I swear to the Lord I will kill you if you do.”

“Hal,” Rupert said, laughing out a puff of smoke as Lily roared in his ear. “We went to the mall and a diner and—God knows where else.”

“Your father is _furious,”_ Lily said, her tone implying that he didn’t already know this.

“I’m aware. He told me so himself.”

“He’s coming out here, you know? My father even told me about it. How bad is that? _My_ father told _me_ about it!”

“Yes… Listen, we’re at this arcade now. Why not come join us—”

“You’re still out with him? After all this?”

“Well, what’s the point in coming back? I’m dead anyways,” Rupert said, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Come hang out.”

“Newsflash, you idiot, Hal doesn’t like me. And my father would kill me if he knew I was encouraging this.”

“No one has to know you’re with me. It’s not like anyone’s going to come looking for you.”

“And what’s Hal going to say when I turn up and spoil his little dance in the dew?”

“Dance in the dew?”

“Just _come home_ so I can beat some sense into you.”

“Come _here_ and beat sense into me. And bring some party favors.”

“Absolutely not. Especially not after how you’ve been ignoring me. Rupert, do you hear yourself?”

“Well, the hell does it matter, Lily? I’m disowned, alright? There’s no taking it back now. This is my last chance to enjoy myself and I’m _going to._ I’d like to at least see you before we’re _really_ banned from seeing one another.”

Lily pitched a heavy sigh, seeming to actually consider it this time before asking the address. “No party favors,” she added before hanging up the call. That was fine. Rupert sent a few brief texts to his supplier, located an ATM inside the arcade, and sent the address. 

An hour later, he and Hal were on their second drinks, a girl bumped into him and handed him the carton of cigarettes “he’d dropped” and he handed her a small roll of bills during a fake and brief handshake. 

During this exchange, Hal’s eyes finally left the game of Dig Dug he was playing—seeming a tad too familiar with the exchange than he really ought to be. Rupert, however, was getting used to the idea that Hal was much more experienced than he’d let on, and much less concerned about it than he had been now that he had two drinks in his system. 

He flourished the box of cigarettes and then tilted his head toward the bathroom. Hal’s hands slid off the buttons mid-game, as if in a trance, in order to follow Rupert into the neon-illuminated men’s room. The floors and walls were shining, black granite with dim yellow lights overhead and neon signs on the walls spouting different phrases. “First Place or Bust” in bright blue. “Have Fun Storming the Castle” in red.

There were three other guys at the urinal, one washing his hands at the sink, and one stall door closed at the far end of the row. He and Hal glanced at each other a moment before smirking and ducking into the first stall on their right, shutting the door quickly while Rupert shook out his supplies onto the top of the toilet paper dispenser. 

His Altoids tin made a reappearance as Rupert filled it back up with two different kinds of pills before using the empty lid to make two thin lines from the eight ball which he re-tied and placed back into the cigarette carton before rolling up his tenner and handing it to Hal. One for each of them, for now, he said. Hal made no complaints and handed the rolled bill back to Rupert once he was done.

“Do you have acid in there?” Hal asked, just as someone stepped into the stall next to theirs.

“What, this?” Rupert asked, still pinching his nose with one hand while poking at the little folded piece of aluminum foil in his tin. “Yeah. Kind of.”

“Yeah, kinda,” Hal echoed, laughing.

Seeming to realize there were two shoes in the stall next to him, the man beside them shouted out an expletive and threw open his stall door to move down a stall or two, making Hal burst out with laughter before snatching one of the colorful pills in Rupert’s tin and popping it in his mouth.

“Hey!”

“Finders keepers,” Hal said, smirking at him before leaning in to steal a kiss that ended with the tab of X on Rupert’s tongue instead. Hal helped himself to another, then swallowed it just before throwing open the stall door and stumbling out, leaving Rupert to hurriedly close his tin and put it back in his pocket along with the carton of everything but cigarettes. 

When Rupert finally caught up to Hal again, two new drinks in hand since the one’s they’d left behind had been pilfered, he was back to Pac Man. Rupert hadn’t realized before just how skilled Hal was at the game, his foot tapping rapidly while his eyes stayed fixed and unblinking on the screen. He was like one of the gaming whizzes on television, but when Rupert asked if Hal had gotten the patterns memorized, the boy told him no, that he simply had good instincts for the game—every game. 

He earned a high score on the Pac Man machine, then moved back to Dig Dug just before Lily arrived in an unseasonable white sweater and nearly risqué black shorts that disappeared under the hem of her shirt with every other step. 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She said, hugging him with one arm while holding a glass of wine in the other.

Hal glanced at her for only a moment, then turned his eyes back to his game. 

“You invited her and didn’t tell me?” He asked, monotone yet somehow still sounding angry.

“Is that a problem?” Lily asked, before Rupert could get a word in.

“No.” Hal’s voice sounded distant, as if he were barely aware that he was being spoken to, as if he had not been the one to place himself in the conversation in the first place.

“Then what’s with the attitude?” Lily pressed, ignoring it when Rupert—slurring a bit—tried to discourage her.

“I just like to know,” Hal said, rapidly hitting the button in front of him while his eyes remained wide and fixed on the bright, flashing screen. Rupert had half the mind to think he looked oddly beautiful that way, eyes focused, tongue poking slightly out from between his lips—face glowing in the different colored lights coming off the screen.

“Know _what_ exactly?” Lily pressed, taking a sip of her wine.

“Everything…”

“And wouldn’t we all!” Rupert called out, clinking his glass with Lily’s in hopes of diffusing the tension. It might’ve worked, he wasn’t sure. His senses had become attuned to the music pumping through the speakers, the lights all seeming brighter and that much more exhilarating. 

“I see you got yourself some party favors,” Lily said, watching Hal though she spoke to Rupert.  
�“I have plenty to spare.”

“One of us needs to drive the other two home,” Lily said, looking at him as though tired. Maybe she was; it was going on midnight and she probably hadn’t slept until nine in the evening.

“What? But what about my car?”

“I had the driver bring me, idiot. I’m taking you and your car back home,” Lily said, earning an exaggerated “oh” from Rupert who laughed once it was out.

“It’ll be a while then,” he said, looking from her to Hal. “We just woke up.”

Hal, seeming to overhear this, gave a loud and hearty laugh as he stepped back from the game where he’d just entered his initials to earn the place at the top of the scoreboard. 

The rest of the evening, into the earliest hours of morning, Rupert spent his time watching Hal move from game to game in the thinning out crowd within the bar. His concentrated stares, his howls of joy, his smirks of pleasure—all committed to Rupert’s memory as he swallowed more and more booze until Lily made sure his car keys were secured in her purse. 

Every now and then, Hal would challenge one of them to a multi-player gamer, quickly killing them off no contest—though he seemed to go easier on Rupert than he did Lily, especially on the three-player games. He would kill off Lily, then battle Rupert for much longer than necessary, pressing their shoulders and the angles of their hips together as they battled, stealing glances now and then that made Rupert feel electrified. 

“Home!” Lily would shout at him. First in the bar as it locked its doors behind them. “Home! Home, home!” As they wandered down the streets—Hal swinging himself around light posts and jumping over cracks in the sidewalk. He very nearly got himself run over by a car that had been hurrying to catch the light as it turned yellow. The blare of the horn and screech of tires just served to make Hal laugh that much harder. 

Home, Rupert thought as he finally seized Hal’s burning hot hand in his own. What was ‘home’? He’d been turned out. He was disowned as soon as his father laid eyes on him. So long as he stayed here, out on the street—out at the bars and convenience stores—he was untouchable. He was still someone who meant something; who _had_ something.

Time was suspended in a glorious, shimmering haze that made him both dizzy and oh so _aware._ Aware of every little detail and every little thing. 

Lily could scream at him all she’d like. Rupert would have his way, and he would never go home again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you dropped by, please feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you think!


End file.
